


Spare Me, Please

by Spicy_Skeleton_Roll



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: A little kink, Adult Frisk, Angst, Character Death, Dominant Sans, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Post-Neutral Route (Undertale), This is gonna get dark, all the skeleton boning, bone zone, hey the plot, ok maybe a lot of kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5637760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spicy_Skeleton_Roll/pseuds/Spicy_Skeleton_Roll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two years since Frisk fell into the Underground, two years since she defeated Asgore, but she wasn't able to open the portal. She wasn't able to save anyone. There's a voice nagging her in the back of her head, urging her to reset, urging her to try again. She could save everyone if she really wanted to. </p><p>Despite Sans' best efforts, Frisk resets once again. But there's something wrong with this timeline. The monsters are disformed, changing and melting before her very eyes. If Frisk can't find a way to save them all this time, she'll lose all of them for good-including Sans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Soaked to the Bone

It was a garbage day.

Everything was garbage. Everyone was garbage. But, laying down, the dampness of the floor seeping into her back, the most garbage thing was Frisk. A chill was leaking from the floorboards into her bones, her sweater bunching at the small of her back and scratching the sides of her arms. She squirmed in discomfort, reaching down to smooth the fabric back over her hips.

“Don't move,” Napstablook sighed from beside her. His eyes were trained on the ceiling, seeing things Frisk couldn't. A soft trickle of music from one of his albums was filling the room, nearly drowning out his voice. “Or don't. I'm sorry. Um...you do what you want to.” Yet again, Frisk was filled with the sense of garbage.

“No, Naps,” she assured him. “I'm gonna get this. I don't want to be anywhere else but on this floor with you.” Squirming one last time to get the last of the itching and wiggling out of her, Frisk took a deep breath, exhaled, and was still once again.

For a long time there was nothing. The only things that made a peep were her own breath, the music, and the hum of fridge in the corner. The ceiling was like a void above her, and as she stared into it she felt she could almost see the twinkle of stars and flashes of color, as if the universe were revealing itself above her. It had been so long since she'd seen the stars...

When she'd fallen into the Underground two years ago, she'd only been a stupid, scared girl. Only eighteen. Only looking for adventure on top of a mountain she wasn't supposed to climb. Only a klutz who couldn't help but fall down a hole.

The void opened wider above her, filling the room with the vastness of space and a sense of purpose. The floor and her sweater and the fridge in the corner were nothing under the weight of those cosmos.

She hadn't meant to kill Asgore. She'd learned her lesson long before she had stepped into that throne room. So many tears had been shed in that judgment hall from the regret she felt. There had already been too much blood on her hands. She had just been scared. Alone. She hadn't known....

A quiet hum filled her ears, like the stars around her were trying to speak.

She had been filled with so much determination. No one else had to die...

A face appeared among the tiny galaxies and empty void. Red eyes. Teeth. Blood.

You could have saved them all....

Frisk shot up. The cosmos were gone. In their place returned the music and the damp floor-or was that sweat now that was soaking through her sweater and trickling down her neck?

“Are you okay?” Napstablook asked, though he didn't move an inch. Frisk took a moment to catch her breath before unsteadily rising to her feat. Her heart was pounding painfully against her rib cage.

“I have to go,” she said breathlessly and stumbled out of the house.

She kept her head down, wrapping her sweater tighter across her chest as the door slammed behind her. Eventually the stone floor of the cave gave way to the crunch of snow beneath her feet, Napstablook's house long behind her-still, she did not look back. Perhaps that had been rude of her; as much as Naps preferred to be alone, she must have hurt his feelings running out without explanation.

But that face...

She wasn't sure what she had seen, but the urge to get as far away from it as possible filled her with determination.

Wind whipped her hair around her face, stinging her frost reddened cheeks. What had been a light snowfall only a few moments ago had begun to rage, flecks of white swirling around her, howling, pelting her face insistently. For a second, as her boots sank knee deep in the snow, and the ice seeped into her socks, she considered turning back. But there was somewhere she needed to be. Someone she needed to see....

Head held down to avoid the sting of snow in her eyes, Frisk didn't notice what was standing before her, and she crashed into it, stumbling backwards. She gasped, but before she could fall ass fist into the snow a bony arm wrapped around her waist.

“Hey pal, watch where you're going,” a low, gravelly voice chuckled. “You're walking like you have somewhere to be. Who you gotta bone to pick with?” Frisk peered up to see two white pinpricks looking down at her from empty eye sockets. It was Sans, although she hardly had to check when puns like that spoke for themselves. The skeleton smirked down at her.

“Oh. Thanks, Sans. It's hard to see out here,” she laughed, but the motion and the words felt hollow. She was still on edge.

“Snow problem,” Sans insisted. His eyes still bore into her, and suddenly Frisk was very aware of his hand still wrapped around her waist. She could feel each bony digit through her sweater, holding her gently but firmly.

“Ummm...” she breathed and backed out of his grip, giggling nervously. Sans lazily let his hand fall away from her, as if he hadn't noticed her discomfort at all, putting his hand back into the pocket of his winter jacket. His grin remained unfaltering.

“Look pal, you shouldn't be out here. There's gonna be a hell of a storm. I'm not too sure how humans work, but I assume you don't do too well as popsicles.”

“I, uh-” Frisk stuttered, but she wasn't sure what to tell him. Her eyes darted over his shoulder, into the white abyss behind him. Where had she been going? She didn't even know anymore.

“Let me take you home,” Sans offered. “I can-”

“No!” The protest was sharper than Frisk had intended; immediately, she regretted it. He couldn't take her back. Not yet. She couldn't go home...

If Sans noticed something was wrong, he didn't react. Instead, he smirked, the creases of his brow bone and his eye sockets squeezing from the wideness of his grin. “Well if you don't want to come back to my place, that's fine,” he said, trowing up his arms in a shrug. “You don't have to be so cold.” He turned away from her, shuffling back the way he came. “It was nice snowing yah'.” Frisk stared at the back of his blue jacket for a long moment, dumbfounded, as his stocky form slowly faded into the snow. The panic from before was slowly subsiding, only to be replaced by something fresher. Suddenly, she didn't want to be alone.

“Wait!” she called out, and immediately Sans paused, though he didn't turn around to acknowledge her. “You...you can't leave me out here!” she yelled over the howling wind. “I'm freezing my bones off!”

At this Sans turned around, his grin wider than ever. He took a few steps towards her, his phalanges wrapping around her hand and pulling her closer. “I bet you're soaked to the bone,” he growled in her ear. When Frisk looked into his eyes, the white pupils were gone, replaced by a ball of glowing blue magic that hovered in his left eye socket. She couldn't breathe for a moment as he pulled her tight against him. And then they both blinked out of the snowstorm. For a brief second everything around them was black and empty, not like a dark room but like the space between rooms. Frisk knew this place, but before she could muster up any surprise, it was gone. She blinked, and the darkness was replaced by warmth and the smell of burning pasta. Sans had teleported them back to his house.

Immediately, without seeming to think twice about it, he let go of her hand, and anything Frisk had to say about the empty space or his comments from earlier died in her throat.


	2. Spare Me the Embarassment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the smut begins! Fair warning: magical boners, masturbation, and hair pulling ahead.

Frisk curled and uncurled her hand for a moment, still a little shocked by the teleporting and possibly by the feeling of Sans' bony hand in hers. Or mostly by the feeling of Sans' hand.

Wait, was that something burning? That was definitely something burning. Maybe that could take her full attention right now and she could forget all about this.

“SANS, IS THAT YOU?” Well that explained everything; Papyrus must be cooking dinner. Sure enough, just a second later his head appeared in the kitchen doorway. In his hand he brandished a wooden spoon, red sauce dripping off it like a bloody sword. As his eyes moved from Sans to Frisk, he lit up with glee. “AH! YOU'VE BROUGHT THE HUMAN WITH YOU! HELLO, HUMAN!”

“Hey, Pap!” Frisk and Sans greeted simultaneously, making Sans chuckle.

“Is there an echo in here?” Sans asked. His hands were shoved deep into his jacket pockets now, Frisk noticed.

“SANS THAT IS TERRIBLE!” Papyrus shouted, waving the wooden spoon around in admonishment. Flecks of red flew off the end, speckling the carpet. “HUMAN, I AM SO GLAD YOU'L BE STAYING FOR DINNER! UNFORTUNATELY, SANS DID NOT TELL ME AND WE DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH SPAGHETTI! I APOLOGIZE FOR HIS RUDENESS!”

“Oh no, Paps. It's okay, really. I don't need any-” Frisk began to protest, but Papyrus continued without noticing her. He couldn't be stopped now.

“NEVER FEAR! THE GREAT PAPYRUS SHALL MAKE MORE! THOUGH DINNER SHALL BE DELAYED!”

“Well gee, Pap,” Frisk said, flustering a bit. She grinned at him-how could anyone not with his infectious good attitude? “You know your spaghetti is the best. Thanks.” At the compliment, Papyrus's cheeks seemed to glow. Once again, he disappeared into the kitchen, the flick of his scarf the last thing visible before his loud voice was replaced by the crashes of metal pots.

“Hey,” Sans called in his low, gravelly voice, grabbing Frisk's attention. She turned to see him grinning at her like always, a particularly amused twinkle in his eye. “We should get you out of those clothes.”

Now that she thought about it, her snow drenched sweater and wet socks were starting to become unbearable. While the warmth of the house had been inviting at first, it now it was starting to highlight just how cold and clammy she felt in her pile of wet clothes. She felt like a wet sponge that needed to be wrung out.

“Also, you can change into new ones if you want to.” Sans winked at her. For a moment the swirl of blue energy reappeared in his left eye, the smile in his skull seeming to take a dangerous hint to it. Frisk felt her heart lurch into her stomach, but before she could stammer out an answer he disappeared before her eyes For a short second she stared at the place he had just been, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and then she screamed through her teeth.

“SANS!” she shouted after him in frustration. She was used to him doing this, how he seemed to appear and disappear at will, but what a terrible time to vanish. His sense of humor always seemed to be at her expense. Seething, she stomped into the middle of the living room, her eyes scanning for any sign of him.

“Sans!” she called again. Her fingers trailed the arm of the couch. Not back there. Not under he coffee table. Fisk looked towards the staircase, up at the two bedrooms on the second floor. Sans's bedroom was closed, but she had the feeling that wasn't where he had gone; it wasn't his style. Finally, her eyes flickered over to the TV. A smirk crossed her face.

“Oooh Sans,” she called again, creeping closer to the TV. Sure enough, when she peered behind it, there he was, crouched between the TV and the wall in a tight ball of bones. Sans grinned sheepishly back up at her.

“It appears I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place,” he chuckled. Frisk held out her hand to him.

“My clothes, sir.”

Indeed, somehow he had managed to find a spare set of clothes for her in the short time he'd been hiding. He held them out to her, and Frisk smirked one last time at him as she took them from him. His fingers lingered over hers for a moment before he let go, and she headed to the bathroom to change.

***

Having abandoned her sweater and pants into a sopping pile in the bathtub, Frisk held her new clothes against her chest. They were nothing special: just an oversized pair of shorts and an old t-shirt, but they were warm and dry, and right now that was everything. As she pulled the shirt over her head she could smell Sans on it, like snow and the distinct smell of smoke and grease from his many nights at Grillbyz. Having it right against her skin made her blush all over again. He'd been teasing her more than usual today, and it was starting to frustrate her. She couldn't tell if he was truly flirting with her or if he was just trying to get a reaction out of her, but either way it was annoying, and she wasn't sure what to do. Did he know about her feelings for him? Was he aware of what those teases and little touches did to her? How that dangerous look in his eye left a heat low in her belly and made it hard to breathe?

Maybe she should just come out and tell him how she felt.

Nope. Big fucking nope. She would just keep this to herself. There were more important matters, anyway.

***

By the time Frisk came back downstairs, dinner was ready. Papyrus was so excited he gave her two helpings, which she ate in record time. Yes, there was on odd mixture of crunchy and overcooked noodles, and yes, there were pockets of cold and burnt sauce, but it didn't bother her in the slightest. It had been days since she'd eaten a home cooked meal.

“YOU ARE SO EAGER TO EAT MY SPAGHETTI, HUMAN!” Papyrus shouted with glee. “I WOULD OFFER YOU MORE, BUT UNFORTUNATELY YOU HAVE EATEN ALL OF IT!” He looked more pleased than unfortunate.

“Oh no!” Frisk gasped over dramatically, clutching her chest like her heart hurt. “How ever will I survive without more of the Great Papyrus's famous spaghetti?” At this, he seemed to absolutely glow, standing so suddenly from the table that the dishes rattled. Sans chuckled under his breath from beside Frisk. When she peeked over at him, she noticed his food was gone, despite the fact she'd never once seen him take a bite through all of dinner.

“FEAR NOT, HUMAN!” Papyrus flourished widely with his arms, his scarf flying around him in the momentum. “FOR I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, SHALL TEACH YOU ALL I KNOW! SO THAT YOU MAY HAVE SPAGHETTI ANY TIME YOU HEART DESIRES!” He sat again. “ALTHOUGH I COULD HAVE DONE SO TONIGHT HAD SANS TOLD ME YOU WERE COMING! THAT LAZY BONES NEVER TELLS ME ANYTHING!”

“Uh, bro, I didn't know she'd be coming either,” Sans retorted. He winked at Frisk. “She just sort of appeared out of the **blue**.”

“It was more like 'out of the white'” Frisk corrected him. “0/10 would not pun again.” Sans shrugged.

“Fair enough. I guess you could say I dropped the  **bone** on this one.” Papyrus groaned.

“SANS, NO JOKES!” He stood again, this time taking the dishes and dumping them into the kitchen sink, where a ghastly number of pots and pans were already waiting, spilling out of the sink and onto the counter. It didn't seem to bother Papyrus in the least. As he cleaned up, he addressed Frisk again. “HUMAN, IT IS GOOD TO SEE YOU! WE HAVE NOT HEARD FROM YOU IN MANY DAYS! MY BROTHER WAS BEGINNING TO WORRY! BUT OF COURSE, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS KNEW YOU MUST BE ON ANOTHER ADVENTURE, AND THERE WAS NOTHING TO WORRY!”

A couple of beads of sweat rolled down the side of Frisk's face. She didn't like where this conversation was going. From the corner of her eye, she could see Sans staring at her, as if he were more aware of what was going on than his brother, but she did not have the courage to look at him. If he knew, than this was only more humiliating.

“Ah, you know,” she stuttered, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. She looked down at her hands gripping the table as she spoke. “I've been doing my own thing, backpacking across Underground. Hanging out with Alphys. Living amongst the Temmies. That sort of stuff.”

“AH!” Papyrus exclaimed in a knowing way, nodding his head. “THAT EXPLAINS EVERYTHING! NO WONDER TORIEL HAS CALLED SO OFTEN ASKING WHERE YOU ARE! SHE MUST HAVE BEEN SO EXCITED TO HEAR ABOUT ALL YOUR NEW FRIENDS AND ADVENTURES!”

Frisk's face paled.

“Mom called?” she asked weakly, but before Papyrus could reply, Sans came to her rescue.

“Don't grill her, bro,” he said.

“BUT DON'T YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT THE HUMAN'S ADVENTURES?” Papyrus insisted. Sans shrugged.

“I'm sure she'll **temmie** all about it later.” Papyrus groaned at the terrible joke, but let the matter drop, returning to cleaning the dishes. Frisk had never felt so relieved.

***

Full, mostly satisfied, and a little tired, Frisk couldn't help but yawn loudly. Sans, Papyrus, and her had spent the hours after dinner watching one of Mettaton's dramatic re-imaginings of Romeo and Juliet-one she was familiar with, seeing as how he had made her a part of it when he had tried to “kill” her. Papyrus had abandoned it for bed long ago, scolding Sans and Frisk for staying up too late before he left. It had been just Frisk and Sans for a few hours now, watching together in silent companionship, the light from the TV the only thing lighting the room. Every once in awhile, Frisk had sneaked a peak at Sans's face, but he hadn't seemed to be watching the show at all. Once or twice he'd looked like he'd fallen asleep himself. She yawned again, louder this time.

“Bed time, kid?” Sans asked from beside her on the couch. Hesitantly, she nodded. She'd hate to kick him off of his own couch, but she hadn't felt so comfortable in days. The fabric of the couch was scratchy against her skin, but her entire body just sank into the soft cushions, inviting her to sleep. It was a thousand times better than Napstablook's floor. Sans chuckled at her.

“You can chill out here tonight,” he said, standing. “The couch is all yours. If you need anything just call, okay?” She nodded again, no longer having the energy to respond verbally. Sans laughed again, softly this time. “Night, pal.” Frisk closed her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, begging to be closed for good for the night, and when she finally managed to crack them open again to give him one last look, Sans was already gone.

Exhaustion finally took her. Her dreams fell upon her effortlessly.

A black void surrounded her-that place between places, the space where nothing existed. She'd seen this place many times and been here many times. Always empty, always alone, except for a voice that called out to her...

_ Stay determined... _

As if someone were watching her every move.

“I know what it is you want...” a voice called out, and from the darkness appeared -no, they hadn't appeared at all. They had been there all along hadn't they? A person stood before her now, someone who she couldn't tell was male or female or neither, or young or old or timeless. Yet, they looked remarkably like her: similar hair, similar mouths, similar skin. Their eyes were empty sockets, a blackness pouring from them as if darknesss itself was escaping their body.

“I know you want him...” they hissed. Their voice was all around her, inside of her, as if the thoughts were coming from her own head.

“He'll never love a murderer like you....”

“But if you reset....”

“If you fix everything...”

“If you save everyone...”

“You can have this....”

“Have what?” she tried to call back, but they were gone, and the blackness was rippling all around her, a familiar sensation. This was SAVE. This was RESET.

The rippling blackness began to melt away, dripping down the walls and pooling on the floor, taking shape into the room around her, the carpet, the bed she was pressed against. A hot, heavy sensation filled her body. Sweat beaded against her skin. Her breath came out in gasps, her voice unsteady from the pleasure that suddenly filled her. Sans' bony hands dug into her hair, clutching her tightly to him as he thrusted into her. A moan escaped her lips at the feeling of him inside her, and it seemed to encourage him more, his hips grinding faster and harder against her.

“Sans!” she cried out.

Vaguely, she was aware she was dreaming, that in reality she was laying half asleep on the couch with the blanket kicked around her ankles. There was an ache between her legs, a hot pulsing of need in time with his thrusts that she could still barely feel inside her. One hand slid down into her shorts, her fingers rubbing tight circles over her clit. The other pulled her shirt up, revealing her tender breasts, teasing her sensitive nipples.

“Sans,” she moaned again as she imagined the full length of him slamming into her, his hands wrapping in her hair to pull her entire head back, revealing the soft skin of her throat. She was on the edge now, her sweat and juices dripping down her thighs as the ache filled her. The though of him leaning down, his teeth sinking into her throat, the shiver of pain and pleasure that ran through her body as he plunged into her one last time, his member throbbing as it filled her with hit hot seed...

“Oh god, Sans!” she cried out as her orgasm finally took her, making her arch her hips off the couch, pressing up against her still circling fingers for those last few extra seconds of pleasure.

“Kid, are you okay? I heard my name.”

She froze.

When she opened her eyes, Sans was hovering over, looking over her with concern. She gaped back at him in horror, her hands frozen over her exposed breast and down her pants.

“I, uh-” she stammered. In a flash, the realization crossed Sans's face. His eyes grew wide.

“I can-I mean-” Frisk stuttered. She scrambled back, her hands flying away from her body to grab the blanket and cover herself. But it was too late. He'd already seen.

She blinked, and he was gone. Wordlessly. Leaving her alone on the couch, stunned, still unsure if it had all just really happened. Frisk held the blanket tightly against her, as if she might disappear if she let go.

Oh god, she wished she could disappear right now.

This was bad.


	3. Death by Grillby's

Morning couldn't come fast enough. Or maybe it came too fast? Frisk wasn't sure. All of time in any capacity was horrifying now. She wasn't sure if it was safer to stay on the couch or move on to the next day and abandon the scene of the crime. Either way, she didn't sleep another minute that night. When Papyrus came downstairs, greeting her too loudly for so early in the morning, she was still in the position Sans had left her in-curled against the back of the couch, the blanket clutched between her fingers for deer life, her eyes staring into the void of nothing she saw her life becoming.

“GOOD MORNING, HUMAN!” Papyrus shouted at her. “IT IS GOOD TO SEE ANOTHER AWAKE SO EARLY!” Frisk nodded, but didn't answer. Finally, she dropped the blanket, and with stiff legs followed him into the kitchen. He was already rustling through the pots and pans in the cabinet under the sink.

“HUMAN, HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR BREAKFAST SPAGHETTI?” he asked, but Frisk waved a hand at him in refusal. She wasn't particularly talkative in the morning, and she couldn't handle food this early even on a day without impending doom lingering over her like a dark cloud. She pointed instead at the coffee pot.

“AH, I SEE! I FORGOT HUMANS NEED FURTHER WAKING UP BEFORE THEY MAY FUNCTION!” At first he offered to make it for her, but Frisk once again shook her head, taking the pot grumpily and filling it with water. She would eat Papyrus's terrible spaghetti all day long if it would make him happy, but her morning coffee had to be perfect. Especially today. After a moment of thought, she doubled the amount of grounds she usually used. It would need to be extra strong if she had any hope of surviving.

She stood groggily for a few minutes, one hand on the coffee pot as it brewed, listening to the sound of Papyrus flying around the kitchen. Her head was a mess of fog and sleep, penetrated only by the deep and slightly acidic smell of cheap coffee and the rumble of the old pot brewing furiously away. Finally, it was ready, and Frisk took a moment to savor the warmth of it in her cup, inhaling the deep, dark scent of it as she leaned against the counter.

“Mornin'.”

Frisk froze. Her eyes slid to the doorway to see Sans leaning against it, looking smug as usual.

“SANS!” Papyrus cried. He whirled around, eyeing his brother suspiciously. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP SO EARLY? YOU USUALLY DON'T WAKE UNTIL NOON!” Sans shrugged, his slippers shuffling against the tile floor as he sat himself at the table. His eyes met Frisk's.

“I didn't sleep a wink last night,” he said and winked at her. Frisk jumped, and then immediately cursed as a slew of hot coffee slopped over the side of her mug, spilling across her shirt.

“Shit,” she hissed. Immediately she reached for the paper towels on the counter, trying to dab up the spill quickly before it could stain more of her shirt.

“Just keep rubbing it in tight circles,” Sans added helpfully, chuckling. Frisk felt her face flare up. Oh god, she hated him so much.

“I DON'T GET IT,” Papyrus said, looking between the two of them. “IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE A JOKE? HUMAN, DO YOU GET THE JOKE?”

Hearing Papyrus ask made it all the more humiliating. Without looking up-she couldn't stand to see the grin on Sans's face-she slammed her coffee mug down on the counter and stormed out of the kitchen

***

Frisk wandered for awhile. Across Snowdin. Waterfall. The Hotlands. She didn't get very far there. After only a few steps she remembered Sans's hot dog stand, and-being the coward she was-turned around again. She didn't know how to face him. How do you talk to someone after something so humiliating? It seemed Sans was willing to move on; the way he teased her was no different than how he always did. But somehow...it was different now. He had seen her in a vulnerable moment. At worst, he knew about her feelings and was trying to play it off as a joke to spare her. At best, he thought she was some sex freak who couldn't keep it in her pants for a single night while she dirtied up her friends' couch. Shit. Neither of those options were very good.

Eventually, late in the afternoon, her hunger won her over. After all, she had stormed out before Papyrus had finished breakfast. But her stomach clenched at the thought of eating. There was only one place to go to eat, and she'd be lucky if Sans wasn't there.

The door slammed behind her as she entered Grillby's. The bar had already filled up with a few regulars, but Sans-thankfully-was nowhere to be seen. The fie demon looked up at her as she stomped across the room and flung herself onto a bar stool.

“Grillby, this is really important,” she said, throwing her hands down on the bar. She stared directly at the pillar of flames, into the glasses where she assumed hi eyes were. He was currently wiping the bar down with a rag. “Do you have anything that'll kill me?” He paused for a second, but did not contemplate too long. Slowly, he nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later he reappeared with a hamburger, setting the plate down wordlessly in front of her. Frisk stared down at it.

“I was hoping for something a little quicker,” she admitted. Grillby nodded again, and this time he reached under the bar, setting a bottle of intensely blue liquid and a shot glass in front of her. “That'll have to do,” Frisk sighed.

It felt like hours that she was in there, the bar filling up more and more until the entire pub was filled with the swarm of chatter and the warm smell of fried food

“I think I'm just gonna go hide in the ruins forever,” she chatted to an Aaron who sat beside her at the bar. She wasn't entirely too sure what he looked like; her eyes couldn't focus well at this point. “Then I can-I don't know-try to climb my way back up the hole. It's like when you're embarrassed and you want to crawl into a hole and die, bu I'm already in the hole so I need to get out of it for this to work.” The Aaron nodded, barely listening to her. He was attempting to not so subtly show off his muscles to hr, the small space between them filled with his huge, flexing arm.

“Yes, those are very nice biceps,” Frisk told him, patting his arm drunkenly. “I bet that's nice.”

“I can show you more,” the Aaron purred suggestively. “Somewhere more private?”

Frisk blinked at him. The alcohol buzzing in her head was making her feel warm and stupid. “What do you mean somewhere private?”

“Well, why don't you come with me and I'll show you?” the Aaron replied, holding out his bulging arm for her. Frisk reached for it.

A skeletal hand pushed her back gently. Sans was suddenly there, stepping between the two of them. While his grin was wide as usual, the look seemed forced.

“I hate to interrupt this,” he said, his pleasant voice tinged with a dark, gravelly tone. “But I think my friend here has had too much to drink. Perhaps you should go ask someone else to **dibulge.”**

“Sans?” the Aaron neighed angrily, his lips quivering. “What the hell do you care?” He turned to address Frisk. “You with him?” Frisk felt frozen under Sans's touch. She should've known he'd show up here eventually. Now he was looking at her with some strange mixture of feelings that she was waaay too drunk to decipher at the moment.

“No,” she spat, pushing his hand away.

“See?” the Aaron snorted. “She can take care of herself.”

“Oh I know she can,” Sans chuckled, winking at her, and Frisk instantly turned red. That asshole. “But right now I should get her home.” He grabbed her hand again, ignoring her protests, and gently urged her off the bar stool. Frisk complied. There was something about the way he spoke, that dangerous hint in his eyes as he stared down the Aaron, that made her feel like she shouldn't refuse. As she moved to stand, though, the Aaron roughly grabbed her arm.

“Hey!” he said a little too roughly. “You don't have to do what this guy says! Do you wanna stay or not?” Frisk cried out in surprise as he tried to jerk her back, but before she could tell him to let go, Sans had already wrapped his bony hand around the Aaron's wrist, squeezing it tightly.

“Don't touch her,” he threatened, his voice a low growl. Frisk caught the sight of blue magic blazing ferociously in his left eye. “Or you're gonna have a bad time.” The Aaron instantly let go of Frisk, mumbling an apology.

“Just put her stuff on my tab!” Sans called over to Grillby, who nodded silently. Then he led her quickly out of the bar.

They were both quiet for a few minutes, the only sound the snow crunching under their feet as Sans led her down the street. Frisk began to lag behind, struggling drunkenly with Sans's brisk pace. Finally, agitated, she ripped her hand away from him.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” she demanded. Sans stopped, turning to look at her with the same expression he always had. Did he even realize how humiliated she was? Did he understand what seeing him was doing to her?

“Look, I know you're a real friendly gal and all, but sometimes you don't seem to notice what people's intentions are,” he said carefully. Frisk glared at him.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You didn't notice that Aaron was hitting on you,” he said, shrugging, then added quietly, “among other things.” He held out his hand for her. “Look, let's just go home. I've got the stuff to sober you up.” Frisk shook her head vehemently.

“I don't-” she began to say, but stopped herself. She wasn't sure how to say what she wanted to say to him. How did she fix this rift she'd created? “This morning...I mean...what you saw last night...” Sans sighed.

“I don't want to have this conversation with you like this,” he said gently, taking her hand again. “If I promise you everything will be fine and we'll talk once you sober up, will you let me take you home?” Frisk thought about it for a moment, and then slowly-finally-nodded.

“Are you okay to teleport? You won't puke?”Sans asked. She nodded again. He chuckled, the blue magic flaring in his eye again.

“Good. Cause I'd hate for you to **un-wine** here.” He winked at her, and they teleported out of the snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand chapter 3 is done! I promise, it'll get back to the good stuff real soon. Can't get to the bone zone too quickly, you know? Thanks guys for all the comments and kudos. I'm glad so many people like my garbage.


	4. Sober

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans and Frisk have a sobering conversation.

Sans led them into the house, slowly urged her into the kitchen, and sat her down at the table. Wordlessly, he moved to the cabinet under the sink, which was so tall to accommodate Papyrus that Sans could walk right into it as if it were a closet. He grabbed a mug and what looked like a box of loose leaf tea, set a kettle on the stove to boil, and began to prepare. He didn't speak to Frisk throughout all of it, though he glanced at her a couple of times just to make sure she was okay. She was staring down at the table, looking very much like she'd rather be anywhere else. Had he done that to her?

Sans sighed as he poured the tea. In some of her runs she could be so dense. But he only had to wait a little longer. Just another half hour or so and he'd be able to tell her everything.

“Here, drink this,” he told her softly, setting the mug in front of her. Frisk stared at it incredulously, scrunching up her nose at the smell. The tea was giving off a putrid stink of salt, flowers, and meat. The water had turned a dark, inky black like a hot bog.

“What is this?” she asked suspiciously.

“It's water sausage tea,” Sans explained. “It'll sober you up quick.” Frisk took it and hesitantly took a sip. Instantly, she gagged.

“Oh god,” she gasped. “It tastes like old hot dog water.”

“ **Tibia** honest, it doesn't taste the greatest,” Sans shrugged. “But **throw me a bone** here. I'm trying to help you.” Frisk shuffled in her chair uncomfortably, her face scrunching up again before she grabbed the mug one more time, throwing her head back, and taking the entire cup at once. She slammed the empty mug back down on the table and coughed, her body shaking.

“Eeeew,” she groaned, and Sans laughed, patting her on the back.

“Good job, kid. I knew you could take it like a pro.” Frisk snorted at him, but already she could feel the tea's effects on her. The dizziness and confusion that had fogged her brain were starting to dissipate. She was beginning to sober up.

“Let's-” she began to say, but before she could finish Sans's cellphone began to ring. He looked at her apologetically as he pulled it out of his pocket, checked the number, and walked out of the room.

“Hey,” Frisk could hear him answer from the living room. Curious, she tip toed to the kitchen doorway, straining to hear.

“Yeah, she's fine.”

Frisk gripped the doorway in her hands, her fingernails digging into the wood. She felt very sober now.

“I don't think she's ready to talk yet.”

She hated this.

“Don' worry. I'll keep her safe.”

She walked back to the table, not bothering to hear any more. Curling her knees up to her chest, she waited patiently for Sans to return. He shuffled in a few minutes later. She didn't ask who was on the phone and he didn't tell her. He just leaned against the kitchen counter, the pin pricks of his eyes watching her intently.

“Please don't look at me like that,” she sighed. “I'm sorry about last night. Um..it won't happen again. I just-”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” That made Frisk paused. Her eyes snapped up too look at his, and was shocked to see a blue hue spread across Sans's cheeks. Was he blushing?

“You know,” Sans said, scratching his skull. He chuckled nervously. “When someone flirts with you, it might be easier if you just flirt back.” Her mouth was gaping open like a fish. She couldn't be hearing this.

“I mean, I'll admit,” Sans continued, “ watching you blush and squirm is adorable. But I thought you would've picked up on it by now.”

Adorable. Did he just call her adorable? Frisk shook her head in disbelief. Sans stepped closer to her now, reaching out to caress her cheek with his bony fingers, trailing down the lines of her jaw slowly, savoring the sensation of her soft skin against his bones.

“Picked up on what?” Frisk whispered. Slowly, the white lights in his eyes faded, and blue flickers of magic, like flames condensed into a tight ball, began to swirl in his left eye. The smirk on his face widened dangerously.

“Why don't you sleep in my room tonight?” he growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's so short. I'm not great at writing romantic confessions. Hopefully I'll be able to make up for it when the plot finally bursts forward in the next couple chapters.


	5. Run with It

The room was dim, lit entirely by a single flashlight shoved in a lamp shade. Frisk stared in awe at the mess around her: the greasy ball of sheets sitting on the bare mattress in the corner, the seemingly magic tornado of socks and old spaghetti plates, the papers strewn across the floor. In her haste and confusion, she tripped over the treadmill in the middle of the room.

“Woah,” Sans laughed, pulling her back mid-fall. “Watch your step there, babe. You might want to **exercise** some caution in here.” Frisk groaned. 

“Not once in the years that I've known you have I seen you use this thing,” she accused. “Please tell me it isn't here just so you can make that joke.”

Sans shrugged. “You caught me. Just  **run** with it.”

The way he was looking at her, his still glowing eye raking over every inch of her body, made her feel so vulnerable and exposed. Instinctively, she reached up to cover her chest. It wasn't a bad feeling, necessarily. She recognized this heat welling up inside of her; it was the same feeling she'd had when she would dream about him. But here, with the real Sans in front of her, not being in control of how this situation was playing out-Frisk wasn't sure how to act.

“Heh, guess I should've cleaned up for you,” Sans chuckled. His eyes remained fixed on hers as he lifted his hand in the air and snapped his fingers. At his command, the sheets on the bed hovered in the air, unfurled themselves, and slowly drifted back over the mattress, smoothing themselves into some semblance of a made bed. Frisk's eyes watched them as they did, fascinated by his magic and also nervous for what it meant. Finally, she let her eyes meet Sans', ignoring the shiver that was running through her body.

But Sans didn't lead her towards the bed. Instead, he stepped towards her, slowly backing her against the wall. She felt like a rabbit paralyzed by the gaze of a wolf, and as he closed the distance between them she hesitantly stepped back.

“You have no idea what it was like,” Sans breathed as Frisk's back pressed against the bedroom wall. “Coming downstairs and seeing you touching yourself.” Her breath caught in her throat as his hands moved to either side of her head, trapping her in the bony cage of his arms. His skull hovered inches away from her face, his eyes raking over every detail of her. “To hear those sweet moans calling out _my_ name.” One of his bony hands reached out for her face, lazily curling a strand of her hair around one digit.

“Sans,” Frisk breathed, and he leaned in closer to her in response. The fur on his hoodie tickled her bare skin.

“Say it again,” he growled back, drawing even closer. The sharp edges of his fingers traced her jaw, across her wet and shaking lips. “Say my name again.”

Frisk stared into his eyes for a few brief, but tantalizing seconds before she answered. Despite the empty blackness of his sockets, the way his brow bones were edged downward, narrowing his stare, sent shivers down her spine. She could feel his need radiating through him in every word, every look, every touch. And that was amazing. She could never imagine that she would create those feelings in him the same way he did her.

“Sans,” she whispered again, and he closed the distance between them.

It wasn't a kiss in the way two humans kissed. After all, he had no lips. Instead he pressed his cool, hard teeth against her soft skin. As Frisk's lips conformed to their ungiving shape, a spark of magic passed between them, making her nerves tingle. She gasped in surprise, but as she reflexively tried to jump away, Sans' hands snaked in her hair, pulling her tight against him. Frisk was entirely engulfed in his bones, the soft plush of his coat, the fur that tickled her ears and her neck, the electric magic sending pin pricks of pleasure across her skin. Finally, she pulled away, breathing heavily. Sans chuckled.

“Do I take your breath away?” he asked. Even as Frisk shot a glare at him, he continued to play with her hair. Despite the sharpness of his phalanges, his touch was surprisingly gentle. The smile he was giving her was too smug, Frisk thought. Slowly, she reached a hand into his jacket, slipping under his shirt to scratch lightly across his clavical. Sans shivered under her touch, and now Frisk was the one smirking, her hands trailing over his scapula and down his arms.

“As  **humerus** as I find your puns,” she purred, “I'd like you  **tibia** bit more serious.” He grinned wickedly at her, and with a flash of his blue eye they were both on his bed, his bulky figure leaning over her, pinning her down. His eyes and his hands passed over the blush on her cheeks, her bare neck, the inch of skin at her belly revealed from under her sweater.

“It feels so good to hold you like this,” he whispered, nuzzling his skull into her neck-and then, softly, so quiet Frisk only heard the words from the reverberation they left against her skin- “It's been so long.”

“What do you mean so long?” she asked. Sans froze for the briefest of seconds against her, and then he sighed against her neck and pulled away from her, freeing her from his bony grip. He sat up, his eyes looking away from her for a long moment, silent, as if debating on what to tell her.

“Sans,” Frisk said softly, sitting up as well. She placed a hand on his femur in comfort, squeezing lightly. Anger didn't even cross her mind; instead, she felt a hollow sensation inside of her. She knew well what it felt like to pull away into herself the way he was now, and yet it still hurt to feel like she was on the outside. Sans had always been a bit of a mystery. There was a world beyond those eye sockets she wasn't privy too, but she wanted to be desperately. At her touch, Sans sighed.

“What's wrong?” Frisk prodded. Sans chuckled without humor.

“I'm gonna honor your request, babe. I'm gonna be a bit more serious” He looked her dead in the eye now, but instead of his usual soft, dopey white pupils or the dangerous blue eye, there was a chilling emptiness to them. 

“W h y d o n t y o u t e l l m e a b o u t S A V E?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I ended this one pretty short again. I figure this will probably be the format for most of my chapters unless I feel otherwise. It's pretty difficult to find time to write these with school and work, so short chapters means I can get them out faster. Hope that's ok for everyone.


	6. The Old Shoe Box

For too many minutes Frisk stared at Sans in silence, hr brain struggling to put the pieces together. Sans was patient, quietly waiting for her answer. His white pupils had returned, but somehow his gaze was still hard and accusatory. Frisk's hand slowly slid off of his femur to rest numbly in her lap.

“How do you know about SAVE?” she asked softly, unable to hide the uncomfortable shiver in her voice. In her head, she could see the corpse white face that had been haunting her dreams, the black emptiness that dripped from its eyes. Sans looked down at her hands, his brow bones dipping downwards as if he regretted her pulling away. Slowly, he reached for the hand in her lap, bringing it to him and holding it tightly between both of his. His eyes were softer now.

“This...isn't the first time we've done this,” he said hesitantly and chuckled hollowly. “My room, making out...” He looked lost for words for a long moment. “This doesn't get easier,” he muttered, and then a little louder, “I know about SAVE. I know about RESET. I'm the only one who does. We-I men I've been studying the anomalies in the time line for awhile now. Every time it resets, I wake up in my morning at the beginning of it like nothing every happened. Everyone around me moves through the same motions, over and over again. I'm the only one who knows something is different.” He squeezed her hand, and Frisk could feel his bones shaking around hers.

“We've been together before,” Frisk stated matter of factly, trying to cement the idea in her head. Thought she was fully aware of her ability to reset, her memories of her previous runs were hazy. There was a vague inclination, an instinct that stayed with her, as if every new thing she saw was familiar to her, bu for the life of her she couldn't remember anything else.

“How many times?” she asked weakly. Sans chuckled hoarsely and let go over her hand, leaning over the bed to check for something underneath. He shuffled around for a moment, and the pulled up an old, worn shoe box and laid it between them. The cardboard top was dented in, the corners ragged and splitting. Silently, he opened the box.

Inside was a collection of old photographs, journals, and loose pieces of paper. The photos were faded and worn, as if they;d been handled many, many times over. Frisk reached for one, but hesitated, looking up at Sans for permission. He nodded. Slowly, Frisk began to shuffle through them. Some were of Sans and Papyrus, some of monsters she didn't know. Unfolding one piece of paper, she found a crudely drawn picture of Sans and Papyrus with a skeleton she didn't recognize, the words 'Don't Forget' scrawled out beneath them. She folded it back up and set it aside. Still, many of these pictures were of Frisk. Frisk and Papyrus dressed in glittery outfits while singing karaoke. Frisk at Sans' hot dog stand, balancing too many dogs on her head. Frisk flat on her face, fallen hot dogs scattered around her.

A grainy, low res selfie of Frisk with her arms around Sans, both of them grinning like maniacs into the camera too close to their faces. Frisk flipped to the next one slowly, her eyes lingering on the two of them together. They looked so happy...

“Oh,” she muttered, blushing instantly as her eyes caught the next photo. Sans eye sockets widened, and he snatched the picture from her. His cheek bones were dusted with blue.

“Heh, uh...sorry about that one,” he chuckled nervously, wiping a bead of sweat away from his skull. “You..uh...usually pick up on my advances before now...so uh..you've taken some...um...” he coughed. Frisk blinked, unsure of what to say to him.

“Look,” Sans shrugged. “I'm just telling you the **naked** truth.” Instantly, Frisk's entire face flooded with red. Sans looked down at the pile of pictures that had consumed Frisk's lap.

“We've been together more times than I can count,” he whispered. “The timeline has been resetting long before you got here, but when you arrived it seemed to stop for awhile. I never knew if I was going to wake up to see a new day or be forced to do everything over again. I stopped caring. It wasn't worth putting so much energy into anything, anymore. And then you came along and the resetting stopped. And defeated that stupid little flower...and we fell in love....” He paused over that last phrase for a second, worried it might scare her away. Frisk nodded, urging him to continue. “And then I got this call from Toriel, saying you'd disappeared. No one knew where you were. You wouldn't answer my calls. The night of that snowstorm, I stayed up all night, trying desperately to get a hold of you, looking everywhere for you...and in the morning when I woke up it was two years earlier, and I was meeting you for the first time in front of the ruins all over again.” Frisk paled at his words. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn't come out. She saw SAVE in her head, the emptiness of a crawl space between the walls. “And since then it's happened over and over again, the same way every time.”

Frisk stared down at the pictures and notes scattered over the bed, each one creased, some lovingly folded and others angrily crushed. So many lives that had been torn apart. So many memories she longed to be a part of.

“Have I ever told you how I get to SAVE? How I RESET?” she asked. Sans shook his head. 

“This conversation is all new. I...I usually don't see you after the snow storm. I just knew this time I couldn't let you disappear.”

“Sans, I can't just RESET any time I like. To do it, I have to die.”

The look of horror that crosses Sans' face as she said it was heartbreaking. Without warning Frisk was hurled forward, his arms wrapped around her and pulling her close.

“Where were you going?” he asked. His bones rattled dangerously. “Why would you leave to die? What were you trying to accomplish?” His eyes pleaded with her, so unsure, so hurt, and yet Frisk could only look back at him as if he were missing the most obvious point.

“My death doesn't matter,” she whispered. She touched each of the photos on the bed sadly, her fingers running over the well worn streaks where Sans' fingers had held them. “I can come back over and over again to retry my mistakes. But those monsters I've killed, even just the little ones-the froggers, the woshuas-all the ones I was too scared of when I fell down here-they can't come back. And now I have their blood on my hands. And the rest of you-you, Papyrus, Toriel-you're trapped down here because I wasn't strong enough to break the barrier.” A few stray tears fell softly onto the faces of monsters under her hands.

“How can I look her in the eye? How can I dare to call her 'mom' when I was too weak to save all of you?”

“That's what you've been doing?” Sans asked in shock. “You've been resetting to try and break the barrier?”

“I didn't know you knew,” Frisk cried. “I didn't know you were reliving everything. I thought I was the only one, but every time I reset I can't remember what happened. I don't know how many times I've tried. I don't know what I did wrong before. I just know I've fucked up again, and I need to set things right.”

Sans sighed. “I didn't realize...I wish I'd known sooner. I could've stopped you a long time ago.” This made Frisk freeze. She pulled away from him, her mouth agape.

“Stop me?” she repeated, wiping away the tears running down her cheeks with her sweater sleeve. “Why would you stop me?”

“You can't keep doing this forever,” Sans sighed. “You've done it so many times before. You can't... **I** can't keep doing this, Frisk. We've met so many times. I've loved you so many times, every time stronger than the last. And yet, every time I think we can finally be happy, it's ripped away from me. I don't want to do that again. I don't want to wait for years, pretending we aren't more than friends, waiting for some sign that this time you still care about me. I'm ready to stop.”

“But what about everyone else? What about their lives? What about all of this EXP and LOVE? Undyne, Mettaton, mom...even you. I know you must resent me for it. And if I have the power to go and fix things, what kind of person am I if I didn't?”

Sans chuckled darkly. He looked her deep in the eye, his expression full of dark humor. Slowly, he brushed a stray tear away from her cheek with one finger.

“I'll admit, the very first time I did resent you. You disappeared, and we never saw you again in that timeline, but I would leave you messages on your phone telling you about everything that was happening. Everything that was a direct result of you messing with our lives. And then everything reset, and I met you all over again. But that time it seemed like you were being more careful. You killed less people. You regretted the decisions you made. After that first run, you never once hesitated to spare Asgore. At first I wanted them all to live. I wanted you to pay for your sins. But one I opened up to you...” Sans held her face gently in his hands, his phalanges stroking her cheeks softly. He chuckled again without humor.

“I know it's selfish of me, but I don't care about that anymore. I just want things to move forward. I want us to move forward...even if...it means giving up on them, on the barrier.”

“Yeah, but-”

“I know you humans have a lot of determination and all, but could you not be so determined to hate yourself?” Sans shrugged. “I'm a pretty laid back skeleton, babe. I don't really get involved with anything. But I have gotten involved with you. Every time, without fail. And I promise you, you've felt enough guilt. You don't have to keep doing this. Nothing you have ever done has changed my feelings for you.” He rolled his eyes. “Except maybe realizing you are a thousand times more clumsy than I originally thought.” Frisk sniffed, wiping the snot away from her nose with her sleeve, but the crying had finally stopped.

“How could you ever deal wit someone like me?”

“I don't know,” Sans answered thoughtfully and winked. “Maybe cause I like you a skele- **ton**.”

She pushed him away from her, grumbling, which only made Sans' grin widen even more. He let her push him back, falling against the bed more dramatically than her strength really allowed.

“Oh no, she's got a  **bone** to pick with me now,” he said. At this, Frisk scrambled to use her feet and kick him off the bed. Sans rolled off without a fight, hitting the floor with a soft thump and rolling out of sight.

“Well someone's getting  **frisky** ,” she heard his muffled voice from under the bed. Groaning, Frisk turned away, falling back until her head plopped against the pillow. It was a little flat, the stuffing already accustomed to the shape of Sans' head, but she pulled it closer. It smelled like him.

“Boo,” Sans whispered in her ear, and his arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her close against him. Frisk giggled as his phalanges snuck up the front of her sweater, tickling her across the ribs. Sans sighed.

“I love that sound,” he said, nuzzling his skull into her neck. Frisk instantly felt her cheeks inflame. She turned towards him, snuggling into his jacket so she could wrap her arms around his rib cage and tuck her head under his chin. Sans chuckled softy.

“Alright, nerd. Let's go to bed.” Even as he said the words, Frisk could already feel herself drifting off. Her eye lids fluttered, trying to force herself to stay awake. She wanted just a few more minutes-just a few more laughs, a few more moments to relish being in his arms. Sans' fingers stroked her hair softly, urging her sleep. As she drifted off, his arms tightened around her.

“Promise me in the morning you'll still be here,” she heard him through the fog that was taking over her brain.

“ o'v course,” she mumbled back and fell asleep in his arms, the pictures still scattered around their feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the plot is here! I promise, now some real skeleton boning can begin. No more fake outs. Thanks for all the kudos and comments, guys. I'm so glad people actually like this story!


	7. Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, not much happening in this chapter. I was going to make it one long chapter that included the smut, but I've just cracked a bad case of writer's block and I haven't updated this story in months, so I thought even uploading this little bit would be better than nothing. Smut next chapter. I super promise.

Morning came, and with it came Sans' routine. It involved only two steps-he couldn't be bothered to do more than that. Step one: with his eyes still closed, he listened for the tell tale signs of a reset. For a brief moment when he woke up, he could never be sure. By this point he knew the signs, every second mapped out precisely down to a science: the exact combination of notes banged out by the pots and pans as Papyrus cooked breakfast, the temperature in the room.

Step two: once he was sure that this was a new morning, open his eyes and steel himself for repeating the same thing over and over, because even if it wasn't a reset, time still wasn't moving forward.

But this morning was different. The moment he woke, he felt Frisk's form curled tightly in his arms, her slow and steady breathing tickling the vertebrae in his neck. Softly, she murmured in her sleep, shuffling further into his jacket. Sans sighed softly. Finally, something new. Something he couldn't predict.

Frisk cracked open her eyes to peer up at him. Her hair was a disheveled mess, and a little dribble of drool still clung to the side of her mouth. Her expression was perplexed as her brain attempted to reform itself from the pile of congealed mushroom soup it became in her sleep. No such luck, though. It would take a strong cup of coffee to rouse her from this undead state.

“Mornin' kiddo,” Sans greeted brightly. Frisk groaned and rolled over.

“Not...kid...coffee...please....” she mumbled and groaned again. Sans laughed. In an instant he'd teleported out of bed, taking the crumpled pile of sheets with him. Frisk lay alone in the middle of the bed, scrambling to find something to cover herself with. A pathetic, half asleep growl escaped her lips, and then her eyes locked onto him, narrowed into slits.

“Give 'em back,” she hissed, but her attempts at a threat were hardly intimidating. San crept closer to her, leaning down so they were face to face. Slowly, he caressed her tangled hair and lifted her chin up to look at him.

“Coffee?” Frisk asked weakly again. Sans smirked.

“I got a little something to wake you up,” he chuckled and kissed her. Frisk accepted it, though in her half asleep state her kiss was clumsy and sluggish. Sans eye flickered only the slightest of blue-in her state, Frisk didn't even notice-and suddenly intensified the amount of magic between them. Frisk shrieked, jolting back on the bed in surprise.

“What the fuck?” she hissed, now seemingly fully awake. She touched her lips hesitantly. “Did you just-” Sans grinned mischievously at her.

“What? Is this **shocking** for you?” he snickered. Frisk could only stare at him.

“You...you joy buzzered me in the face....with your face....” Sans winked.

“Works every time,” he said and teleported them both into the kitchen.

Papyrus was already there, being too loud as he prepared breakfast.

“GOOD MORNING HUMAN!” he shouted over the sound of clanging pans. Frisk winced and covered her ears. “I HAVE ALREADY MADE YOU THE COFFEE!” He pointed to a mug on the table, which he looked intensely proud of. Frisk took it. The mug was graying in age, chipped in one corner-oddly, not as if it had cracked, but a series of indentations as if someone had tried to bite through it at one point. On the front was scribbled “Number #1 Brother” in red marker. Frisk held the mug under her nose, letting the head radiate through her hands and taking a deep whiff.

Already it smelled terrible. Frisk looked over to Papyrus, who was watching her with eager anticipation, and hiding the grimace that threatened to cross her face she took a sip. Oh god. It was just as bad as she imagined. There was a tar like consistency to it, like Papyrus had mixed the grounds into the coffee, and a burnt, overly acidic taste to it. Frisk forced a grin.

“It's great, Papyrus.” Sans was staring at her with a smug expression.

“Hey Pap,” he piped up in a false hurt tone. “No fair. That's my mug. You can't just give another person someone else's number one brother mug.”

“SANS, DO NOT BE REDICULOUS,” Papyrus insisted. “I WOULD HAVE GIVEN THE

HUMAN HER OWN MUG, BUT WE DO NO HAVE A NUMBER ONE HUMAN MUG.” Sans leaned over and winked at Frisk, taking the mug from her hands.

“I don't know. I want my mug. She can have your mug, don't you think?” he asked, slowly walking over to the cabinet. Papyrus turned from his cooking then to glare at Sans, his hands firmly set on his pelvic bone.

“WHY WOULD THE HUMAN NEED MY MUG IF SHE HAS YOURS ALREADY?” Sans pulled out another old, chipped mug from the cabinet. This one had 'Number 1 Cool Guy' written on it. He began to set up the coffee pot for another batch. Frisk watched him carefully, surprised that he seemed to be doing it correctly. She hadn't taken Sans as the kind of guy who bothered with coffee.

“See, Pap, this cup is much cooler. I mean she isn't a number one brother. But she could be a number one cool guy. And it's your cup, so it's obviously cooler than my cup. Don't you want her to have the best?” A low hum escaped Papyrus's teeth as he thought carefully. Finally, he shrugged, smirking widely.

“BUT OF COURSE!” he answered enthusiastically. “THE HUMAN SHOULD BE REMINDED TO BE AS COOL AS ME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS! IF SHE WERE TO DRINK FROM YOUR CUP, YOUR LAZINESS MIGHT RUB OFF ON HER!” Sans chuckled, poured the coffee, and slipped it to Frisk across the table. He took a step towards the sink, but to her surprise rather than dump the offensive cup he now held, he instead opened the fridge and retrieved a bottle of ketchup.

Frisk must've been staring at him incredulously, because he winked at her as he opened the bottle. There was a gaseous sound of air escaping as he squeezed, the thick red condiment plopping unceremoniously into the black sludge. Without any hint of irony, Sans took a long drink.

“Ew,” was all Frisk managed, but held up her coffee cup up to her face to hide her smile. Sans grinned mischievously at her, leaning back against the fridge nonchalantly.

“So will you be crashing here again tonight?” he asked. Frisk shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her cheeks flushing a little. It was obvious what he was smiling about, the memories of what almost transpired last night flashing through her mind. But with those same, heart pounding thoughts came more serious ones too. How Sans and her had been together before. All of the resets. The memories she wasn't aware of. The look in Sans' eye sockets was playful now, but there was a dark hint in his smile, in the way his bones tightened around the mug full of coffee grounds and ketchup.

He was worried she would leave again. That if she didn't stay, she would go to the ruins and really have Flowey kill her this time. Frisk gulped. She wasn't sure he was wrong.

“OH YES, HUMAN! DO STAY!” Papyrus piped in. “WE CAN PLAY VIDEO GAMES AND I WILL SHOW YOU MY NEW ACTION FIGURES! OH AND WE CAN-”

“Unless you want to go home tonight,” Sans interrupted him, his knowing eyes betraying his nonchalant tone. Frisk took a glance over at her cellphone. Even though she couldn't see them from here, she could imagine the long list of missed calls displayed there. Toriel begging her to come home over and over again.

No. Not tonight. She needed at least one more night to figure out her own fucked up existance. One night to make sense of all of this wrong she had created. And maybe Sans could help her do that. Then maybe she would be ready to go home. Maybe tomorrow she would call mom back.

“Yeah,” Frisk answered and gulped. “I'll stay another night.”

The grin on Sans' face was menacing, seductive, and split from ear to ear.

 

 


	8. Slumber Party: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The games have just begun....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get this smut started! Because of my terrible upload times, I've decided to divide this chapter into two parts. But of course I wouldn't leave you without anything to sustain you. Consider this a tease.

If there was one word to describe a sleepover planned by Papyrus, it was enthusiastic. Or maybe overboard. Or possibly insane. Intense? Colorful. Frisk would stick with colorful. A _colorful_ array of candies and snacks scattered across the living room floor: m &ms, caramel popcorn, cinnamon buns, pretzels, spaghetti, cereal both with and without marshmallows, cupcakes, potato chips. All of them separated into multi colored bowls, and then into cups, and then into various utensils and plastic containers and cardboard boxes. Papyrus must have used every container in the house to set up such a buffet.

Frisk carefully maneuvered her way between the various containers. What she had originally planned to be a simple trip to the bathroom to change into her pajamas had become a nightmare quest. Her body wobbled dangerously as she gingerly took a step between a coffee mug full of tootsie rolls and a bowl of chocolate milk.

“I HAVE READ MUCH ABOUT THE HUMAN CULTURE OF 'SLEEP OVERS'” Papyrus boasted, seemingly unaware of the trouble Frisk was having. He pointed enthusiastically at a small, pink book held in his other hand titled 'Sleepover Princess Fun Time'. “ACCORDING TO THIS BOOK, THERE IS A LIST OF THINGS FOR THE PERFECT SLEEP OVER! I HAVE ALREADY OBTAINED THE SNACKS! CHECK!”

Somehow, Frisk made her way around a small paper bag full of hot dogs.

“PAJAMAS!” Papyrus noted. He was already wearing a pair of ducky print boxers on his head like a hat. He turned an accusatory finger toward Frisk. “HUMAN, WHY ARE YOU NOT IN YOUR PAJAMAS! IT SAYS CLEARLY IN THE BOOK THAT PAJAMAS ARE MANDATORY FOR SLEEP OVERS!” Frisk rolled her eyes as she side stepped a a ladle full of tuna fish salad.

“Papyrus, I don't think-”

An unfortunate misstep. Too caught up in whatever retort she had been about to throw at him, Frisk didn't notice the large bowl of fettuccine alfredo right under her foot. Her toes caught the lip of the bowl, flinging the pasta skyward. Stumbling backwards, she slipped on the thick cream sauce now soaking the carpet, knocking over several bowls of multicolored candy in the process. She was falling-butt first into a pile of syrup covered pancakes and dog food- and there was no way to catch her fall. Her arms pinwheeled, dropping her pajamas as she desperately tried to keep herself upright.

Bony fingers wrapped around her wrist. She felt a spark of magic fly up her arm.

And then she fell on her ass on top of a pile of Sans' dirty socks.

“Better watch your step,” Sans chuckled. Frisk merely grumbled in reply as she stood. They were in his room now, far away from the dangers of Papyrus' edible mine field.

“Your brother insisted I put on pajamas for his sleep over.” She looked down at her clothes, then at the floor around her. Had Sans cleaned? Sort of? “I think I dropped them when I fell,” she said. “They belong to the spaghetti and warm root beer now.”

The grin on Sans face was almost dangerous. The white lights in his eye sockets flickered with mischief.

“Don't worry,” he assured as he stepped towards his dresser. “I've got something for you.” Frisk felt her cheeks go up in flames.

“What?” she stammered. “It's not-I mean you don't mean-” The brow bones above Sans' eye sockets widened, feigning innocent.

“Mean what?” he asked. Then his eye sockets narrowed, creasing in a way solid bone shouldn't be able to. His smile curled into a malicious slit. “You wanna bone that badly?” The rush of blood in Frisk's face suddenly plummeted into her stomach. Sans chuckled, and when he turned fully around he was holding a set of folded clothes.

“Chill out, babe,” he said and threw them to her. Frisk scrambled to catch them. “The night's still young. Plenty of games left to play.”

There was that feeling again, that hot bubbling in her core.

“I-uh-” Her mouth felt dry suddenly. Her tongue flickered over her lips in an unconscious attempt to wet them again. Sans' eyes followed as it traced the outline of her bottom lip. “I guess I'll go change in the bathroom?”

Sans' eye sockets were black holes now, sucking her deep into the nothingness within them. Every sharp tooth in his wicked smile gleamed.

“Why don't you do it right here?” he growled.

Frisk's fingers went numb around the fabric clutched in her hands. Her entire framed seized up, her nerves rendering her no more animate than a mannequin pretending to be a human being. He had just...suggested....

It was weird to think that Sans had already seen her naked. Not just once but who knows how many times. His request felt so forward and sudden now, but how many times had he asked this of her?

In her mind, she saw the well loved and faded photo from the shoe box, the one of her naked, posed vulnerable and sensual. The one she had taken for him. Frisk didn't even know _how_ to be sensual, and yet somewhere, in some timeline, she'd done _that_. As scared and nervous as she felt, she couldn't deny the slowly building ache between her legs, the shiver of pleasure that ran up her spine at the mere _thought_ of his eyes on her. The pile of clothes dropped from her hands. Her fingers gripped the hem of her shirt.

Ever so slowly, she began to lift it up...

Sans took a sharp breath. His eyes flickering from her fingers, to her face, and back down to the sliver of soft, white skin slowly being revealed. The curve of her navel, the hint of color at the first peek of her bra, the swell of her trembling breasts. Frisk took a deep breath too as she lifted the shirt fully over her head and let it drop softly to the floor. For a brief moment, she paused to look at Sans. His gaze was transfixed on her, his soft white pupils replaced by the burning, flickering fire in his one eye. Beads of sweat were forming at his temples, but he remained quiet, urging her silently to continue.

Frisk bit her lip, flustered by the wanton desire she saw in his expression, and Sans groaned. Did she really affect him so much? The thought filled her with a confidence she'd never experienced before. Her eyes didn't leave his as her fingers hooked around the waistband of her sweatpants and slowly slipped them down over her thighs.

They dropped around her ankles, and now she stood before Sans almost entirely naked, painfully aware of her bra and panties. Her breath hitched as his gaze moved up her thighs, lingering on the fabric straddling her hips.

“Damn, babe,” he hissed. Slowly he moved towards her, his eyes still raking across her body, leaving a hot trail wherever their gaze fell as easily as if it were his fingers caressing her skin. Frisk shook with anticipation as he drew closer, the space between them almost closed entirely. He reached one bony arm out, the sharp ends of his phalanges drawing ever so lightly up her thigh, up the curve of her hip, across her back, leaving her skin hot and shivering beneath his touch. Frisk groaned as he leaned in closer to her. His teeth brushed against her collarbone. For a second, Frisk felt the hot, slimy tip of his tongue trace the contours of her collarbone. Frisk closed her eyes in ecstasy, savoring his touch.

“Get dressed,” he growled, his breath tingling her earlobe. The tongue disappeared. “We have all night to play games.” The feeling of his hands disappeared from her back. Frisk opened her eyes, confused, but Sans was already gone.

 


	9. Slumber Party: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I've had a lot of writers block and a busy life and I've kinda left this fic by the wayside. But after all the comments I've gotten from you guys asking for more I can't just leave you hanging. It's been a long time, so this chapter is nice and long and smutty. Enjoy, sinners.
> 
> Edit: Realized a good chunk of this chapter was released as part 1 so I removed it. Sorry guys.

***

The first game they played was spin the bottle, but whatever excitement Frisk initially felt at the idea of kissing Sans in front of his brother was immediately gone. Apparently, Papyrus's idea of how to play spin the bottle just involved him spinning the bottle over and over again.

“WOW! IT LANDED ON SANS THIS TIME!” he shouted gleefully, and for the fifteenth time in a row spun it again, ignoring that it was only the tree of them there. “HUMAN GAMES SURE ARE FUN!” Sans shot Frisk a mischievous sideways glance.

“Hey Pap, why don't we play a bit of a different game,” he suggested. Instantly, he had Papyrus's attention. “Why don't we play 'Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Frisk flushed.

“OH! THE GREAT PAPYRUS KNOWS THIS GAME!” Papyrus clapped his hands in glee. “ALTHOUGH IT IS NOT LISTED IN MY SLUMBER PARTY CHECKLIST, ALPHYS HAS SHOWN ME MANY HUMAN DOCUMENTARIES ON THIS GAME!”

“Documentaries?” Frisk asked suspiciously. Sans chuckled.

“Looks like the human doesn't know the rules,” he said. “Why don't you explain them to her?” Before Frisk could stop him, Papyrus had already stood.

“THE GREAT PAPYRUS SHALL EXPLAIN TO YOU, HUMAN!” he shouted gleefully. “DO NOT WORRY! IT IS PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE FOR A HUMAN SUCH AS YOURSELF TO NOT UNDERSTAND! THE GAME OF SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN IS AN ANCIENT HUMAN RITUAL ONLY AVAILABLE TO THE GREATEST AND COOLEST INDIVIDUALS SUCH AS MYSELF!” Frisk eyed Sans and groaned, but he only smiled lazily back at her as if subjecting her to Papyrus was what he had planned all along.

_“_ FIRST WE SPIN THIS BOTTLE!” Papyrus continued. “I KNOW THIS IS VERY SIMILAR TO OUR LAST GAME OF SPIN THE BOTTLE, BUT REST ASSURED IT IS VERY DIFFERENT. WHOEVER THE BOTTLE LANDS ON MUST GO IN THE CLOSET TOGETHER FOR SEVEN MINUTES!”

“And what happens once they're in the closet?” Sans snickered. Papyrus hummed under his breath, confused. Scratching the ducky boxers on his head, he leaned down to grab his copy of _Sleep Over Princess Fun Time_.

“MY SOURCES DO NOT MENTION THIS GAME!” he finally said, throwing the book over his shoulder. It flew in an arc across the room and splashed into a fish tank full of orange soda. “BUT NOT TO FEAR! UNDYNE HAS TOLD ME ABOUT THIS GAME, TOO! ONCE THE HUMANS COME OUT OF THE CLOSET THEY ARE MAGICALLY IN LOVE!”

Frisk nearly choked. The sweet marshmallow; he had no idea what his brother was getting him into.

“I'll go first,” Sans said, reaching for the bottle. “Why don't I take this baby for a **spin**?” He eyed Frisk mischievously, but as his bony hand closed around the bottle, Papyrus smacked him away.

“SANS THAT IS RIDICULOUS!” Papyrus huffed. “OBVIOUSLY THE HUMAN SHOULD GO FIRST! IF YOU WERE TO SPIN THE BOTTLE, WE COULD END UP IN THE CLOSET TOGETHER! WE WOULD BE IN DANGER OF FALLING IN LOVE! TWO BROTHERS!”

“I think Alphys showed me a few anime like that,” Frisk added.

“Paps, I don't think we have to worry about that,” Sans assured him, but Papyrus ripped the bottle away from him.

“SANS, ONCE AGAIN YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE EXTREME NATURE OF THIS SITUATION! THERE IS OBVIOUSLY A POWERFUL MAGIC THAT HAPPENS IN THE CLOSET! WE MUST NOT TAKE SUCH CHANCES!” Papyrus handed the bottle to Frisk. “BESIDES! I SHOULD GET A CHANCE WITH THE HUMAN, TOO! WE USED TO DATE, YOU KNOW!”

Frisk couldn't help but laugh. “Two brothers fighting over me? However will a lady choose?” She shot a devious look to Sans, hoping to revel in his discomfort, but to her dismay he seemed overly calm. He only shrugged at her, leaning back easily as if none of this bothered him.

“Chance?” he suggested. Frisk placed the bottle between the three of them and let it spin.

Once, twice, three times, over and over it turned in a circle between them. Frisk's eyes flickered between the bottle and Sans. The thought of the two of them together, in a closed space, pressed up against his jacket so she could feel the individual indentations of his ribs through his shirt. The thought of him leaning in, his ectoplasmic tongue roaming the inside of her mouth as his hands wandered southward.....

The bottle skidded to a stop. Right in front of Papyrus.

“WOWIE!” Papyrus stood instantly, but Frisk remained on the floor, staring at the bottle in shock. For a second she felt disappointment, and then she turned her gaze to Sans. He, too, was staring at the bottle, and then he looked up at his brother and grinned.

“Wow, Paps. I can't wait to go to your guys' wedding. Don't keep me in the  **closet** about the affair, okay?” Papyrus groaned, but Frisk could hear in his voice that same tightness she had heard before. It was the same tone he had used when he'd pushed that Aaron away from her in the bar, and later more openly when they'd kissed that night. He had been imagining it too-the two of them in the closet together-and he was holding back his disappointment now. Just like that, her own disappointment was gone.

“I wonder what the magic feels like?” she said as she stood.

“I AM A LITTLE PERPLEXED MYSELF, HUMAN!” Papyrus shrugged. “I HAD ALREADY ASSUMED I WAS TOO GREAT AND DATING ME WOULD BREAK YOUR HEART, BUT THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS READY TO FALL IN LOVE IF THAT IS HOW THE MAGIC WORKS “ He grabbed Frisk eagerly by the hand and pulled her away, leading her down the hall towards the shoe closet.

“We'll tell you all about it when we get back!” Frisk shouted back to Sans.

“I'll be counting the minutes until you return,” he replied. Somehow, the softness of his voice as he said it made her blush.

Papyrus shoved Frisk inside the closet before stepping in himself. While the closet was taller than your average human sized one to accommodate him, it really wasn't wide enough to handle both of them squatting in there together. As Papyrus closed the door, his chest plate armor bumped into her, squishing her against the wall.

“Is the magic working yet?” Papyrus whispered. “I can't feel it working.”,

“Just give it time,” Frisk answered.

“Do you think Sans is listening?” A thought hit Frisk at that moment. She was sure he was.

“Papyrus, I just had an idea,” she whispered. “What if the magic doesn't know we're in here? What if we have to be really loud so it knows we're here?”

“Yes, good idea, human! It is almost as if I, the Great Papyrus, came up with it!” He reached up, attempting to strike a dramatic pose, but his bony elbow smacked Frisk in the face, his fingers becoming helplessly tangled in her hair.

“Ow! Pap! Don't-” she hissed, but stopped herself from making too much of an outburst. “I mean, be gentle with me! It's my first time!”

“THE GREAT PAPYRUS APOLOGIZES, HUMAN! I-”

“Not  _ that _ loud,” Frisk hissed. “Falling in love is a more quiet affair. If you're too loud, you'll scare the magic away!”

“Ah, yes!” Papyrus answered, his whisper still a little too loud. “The Great Papyrus apologizes, human! I have not done this before! I am not nervous at all, but my hands are mysteriously shaking!”

“I can help you with that,” Frisk said even lower, her voice dipping seductively. She took Papyrus' hands and moved them to either side of her, letting Papyrus turn so he could crouch in a more natural position. They were a little too close now, his face only inches from hers, but this position allowed him to balance better-not to mention it would keep his elbows from breaking her nose.

“See, we fit together like this. Like a puzzle, almost.”

“I see!” Papyrus answered enthusiastically. “Perhaps this magic is also a puzzle. If we fit together correctly, we will fall in love!”

“That's one way to put it,” Frisk snickered. “Wow, Pap. I never noticed how big and....great your eyes were.”

“And I never noticed how small and fleshy yours are, human!” he replied.

“You're so close right now.”

“Perhaps we should move closer.”

“I think-”

Before Frisk could finish, the door was ripped open, flooding both of them in the blaring light of the hallway.

“Seven minutes is up,” Sans nonchalantly told them.

“Already?” Frisk laughed. A bead of sweat rolled slowly down the side of Sans' skull. His smile was obviously strained.

“You rowdy kids in love yet?”

“I DO NOT THINK THE MAGIC WORKED THE WAY IT WAS SUPPOSED TO!” Papyrus answered, untangling himself from the too small closet and giving Frisk room to step out after him. “MOSTLY I AM CONFUSED AND DISAPPOINTED.”

“Don't worry,” Frisk snickered. “I heard from Alphys that that's normal.”

“I think it's time for bed now,” Sans said. “I mean, part of a slumber party is the slumber part, right?” His eyes bore into hers. Frisk thought she saw flickers of his blue and yellow magic in his eye, but the flashes of color were quick, almost too much to see.

“YES, OF COURSE! THE SLUMBER IS THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF THE PARTY!” Papyrus agreed. “GOOD NIGHT TO BOTH OF YOU!”

“Good night indeed,” Sans growled, taking Frisk's wrist. His grip was a little too tight. She could feel his fingers shaking. The magic in his eye was glowing now, hot and out of control. For a second they were in that dark place, SAVE. Frisk blinked, and they were in his room once again. Frisk turned to look at him, smirking.

“You jealous of me and Papyrus?” she asked.

“I know what you were trying to do,” Sans growled, stepping towards her. Frisk suddenly felt nervous. A heat was building in her belly, leaving her knees numb and shaky as she took a hesitant step back. “I know what game you were playing.”

“What game would that be?” Frisk breathed. Sans grinned wickedly. He backed away from her now, leaving her alone in the center of the room and lazily throwing himself on the bed, his arms resting nonchalantly behind his head.

“If you're so eager to show off,” he said. “Why don't you show off for me right now?”

“I-I don't know what you mean,” Frisk stammered.

“Sure you do.” His eyes grazed over her body. She could feel sparks of his magic there: on her lips, across her collarbone, over her breasts and around her waist. “You were so eager to show off earlier.”  
“I think you might be overreacting,” Frisk breathed.

“Throw me a bone here, babe,” Sans chuckled. “I'm real hurt by what I saw earlier. You and my brother? Since you're such a tease, why don't you tease me?”

“I-”

“Take those pjs off.”

Somehow she couldn't resist him. It wasn't his magic. She could feel something crackling around them, but it wasn't his bright, flaming eye. Her hands shaking with anticipation, Frisk slowly pulled her pajama top over he head. It was just like earlier, strip teasing for him once again, and yet as she slowly pulled down her pants she realized this was entirely different. Earlier, she had been in control of him. Now Sans was entirely in control of her. His eyes lingered over her naked skin.

“Crouch down,” he ordered, his voice low and raspy. Frisk obeyed. At this, Sans chuckled.

“No, not like that,” he said. “Open your legs wider. Let me see everything.”

Frisk hesitated for just a second. She could feel the wetness in her panties, how tight and hot she was feeling.

“Oh don't worry about showing too much,” Sans growled. “You're gonna be showing me much more.”

“More?” Frisk asked, her voice a breath of air.

“The other night when you touched yourself on the couch, when you called my name...” He groaned, his hands clenching. He leaned forward, as if he wanted to cross the room and touch her, but held himself back. “I missed the whole show. I've been thinking about it since then. I can't get it out of my skull.”

“Oh,” Frisk breathed. She was so vulnerable in this position, her legs beginning to ache with the effort of holding herself up. Her lower core felt like it was being consumed with fire, so aware of him staring at her like this, of the thought of what she wanted him to do.

“I want you to touch yourself again,” Sans growled. “Right here where I can watch.” Frisk instantly flushed.

“It's a bit dark in here, isn't it?” Sans asked nonchalantly. His glowing blue eye was transfixed on her breasts. “Why don't you take that off so I can see you better?” He nodded to indicate her bra. Frisk's breath hitched in her throat. While she hadn't thought twice about it earlier, she was suddenly embarrassed by how juvenile her underwear was. Before she had thought the powder blue stripes and yellow bows were cute; now she just felt silly. With shaking fingers, she unhooked her bra and let it slip to the floor. The air felt colder against the flushed skin of her suddenly exposed breasts.

“Looks like its a little **nippy** ,” Sans purred. From behind his smile, Frisk caught the blue glow of his tongue licking the inside of his teeth. His eyes flickered now to her uncomfortably soaked panties. “Take those off, too. I want to see _everything_.”

Everything? Frisk hooked her fingers into the elastic of her panties and slowly pulled them down over her hips, letting them fall around her ankles. Her core was exposed now, her hair and soft folds glistening wet and on display. The clear, hot need was already dripping down her thighs.

“Perfect,” Sans whispered, his eye slowly gazing over her entire body, making Frisk flush. His words sounded so sincere, soft as if he hadn't meant to say them aloud. “Now,” he said louder, “why don't we recreate the scene from that night?”

“What do you mean?” Frisk asked. Sans chuckled, just the tip of his magical tongue peeking from between his teeth.

“Rub that cute little cunt for me,” he said. Frisk's hands slipped downward, her fingers plunging into her folds. A short burst of ecstasy made her body shiver as her fingers brushed against her clit. It was already erect, throbbing and sensitive despite the fact that Sans hadn't even come close to touching her. She started slow, letting the waves of pleasure slowly build up within her. Her head cast downwards, watching herself in slight amazement.

“Look at me.” How could his orders do that? She instantly obeyed him, even though staring into his glowing eye made her so nervous she could barely breathe.

“What was it you were imagining that night?” he asked.

“Ah-” Frisk gasped, stumbling over her own words between the mounting pleasure and humiliation filling her. “You-”

“What was I doing?” Sans purred.

“You were fucking me,” Frisk managed to say. Her thighs were glistening with her need now, the rough sensation of her fingers now slippery against her clit.

“Move your fingers up and down your whole length now.” Without question, her fingers did as they were commanded, moving her fingers from her sensitive clit down the length of her folds to tease her entrance.

“Slip one of your fingers into that cute pussy and tell me how it felt having me inside you.” Her finger entered her, and she whimpered with the pleasure of finally being filled with something, but it wasn't nearly enough. Now that she was imagining what Sans would feel like, that she was saying it out loud, her own skinny fingers would never be enough.

“You felt so amazing,” Frisk gasped between the waves of agnozingly slow pleasure building within her. “Hard...and big....and-”

Sans sat up now, leaving his front row seat on the bed to walk slowly towards her.

“Tell me you want me,” he ordered.

“I want you,” Frisk obeyed. Sans moved closer and closer to her, his blue tongue peeking deviously from between his teeth.

“Tell me you need me inside of you.”

“ _Please_ Sans, I need you,” she begged. He was right against her now, his pelvis pressed against her still thrusting, shaking fingers. His tongue rolled out of his mouth, hot and slick, catching a bead of sweat as it rolled down her neck.

“Come for me, kitten,” he whispered and sank his teeth into her throat.

And she did. The pain and pleasure together in that moment sent her over the edge, and she exploded around her shaking fingers, her body spasming with heat, ecstasy, and relief. She gasped, falling against him as her knees gave out underneath her, and Sans caught her He wrapped her in his bony embrace, softly sitting themselves both down on the floor and holding her as she rode out the last moments of her orgasm.

“Holy shit,” Frisk gasped. Sans laughed softly against her.

“That was great,” he snickered. “I didn't have to do anything.”

“I hate you,” Frisk laughed.

“I mean I've heard of rubbing someone the wrong way, but I've never heard of rubbing yourself the right way.” He nuzzled her neck affectionately.

“You are the absolute worst,” Frisk sighed as she leaned against him in content. “I'm exhausted. Next time it's your turn to do all the work. Sans' arms tightened around her.

“I can't wait.”

 


	10. One Last Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whaaat? Two chapter updates? Oh shit, son. And there's a plot? What happened here! I thought this was just a story about skeleton boning! Hang in there with me, guys. I have this plot idea and I think we're about to start a bumpy ride.

_Stay determined...._

Frisk looked around her, but the empty eyes and pale face of the child haunting her dreams were nowhere to be seen. Still, she could feel them all around her, as if the dark pressing in on her from all sides was their cold hands holding her down. 

_Stay determined..._

Her eyes flickered open to darkness, but Frisk woke up without panic. When she was awake, when she wasn't in SAVE, darkness was easy. It was different. Here it was warm and still, and full of noise. Sans' soft breathing beside her was a reminder. She shifted her body carefully to look at him. Despite all of his bravado last night, teasing her and playing dominant, he was so much softer now that he was asleep. Back to his familiar pile of lazy bones, happiest when he was asleep. Slowly, Frisk untangled herself from his arms and the piles of dirty sheets twisted around her legs, and snuck away.

It was still early. Even Papyrus wasn't up yet. Frisk found him in the living room, sleeping on the floor among the piles of snacks from last night, the bottle and a tiny plushy version of himself wearing matching pajamas stuffed in his arms. His book was on the floor beside him, open to a page showing a bunch of young girls in sleeping bags on the floor. Frisk picked it up gently and began flipping pages. What a cute, silly story. The illustrations had once been bright pink and purple, but the color had faded with age, the white pages stained and ripped. Once upon a time this had belonged to a little human girl, a cheap present from one of her parents to commemorate her first big social experience. The $5 bargain bin sticker was still on the back.

Frisk vaguely remembered her first sleepover. It had been so long ago. Even her most recent experiences: the friends she'd had on the surface, the places she liked to go, the books she liked to read-they were mostly gone now, vague memories as far away and absent as the stars.

She flipped to the last page of the book, titled “A Princess' Guide for After Sleepover Fun” in pink calligraphy. Her eyes grazed over the instructions briefly, and then, with a proud smirk, she began to pick up the maze of snacks still scattered on the floor.

***

Sans woke up earlier than usual. It didn't start out that way. At first it was just a lazy roll in his sleep-there was something great about pointlessly rolling over in bed, readjusting himself again to maximize his comfort and mentally patting himself on the back for accomplishing  _something_ before dozing off again. He held his arm outstretched, expecting to curl it around Frisk and pull himself closer to her, but when he caught nothing but air his eyes immediately snapped open, and he sat up in bed. He held his breath, daring himself not to panic as he strained to listen to the room around him.

His morning routine, checking to see if once again time had been reset.

And....nothing. Footsteps pattering on the floor downstairs. The crackle of burning food. Frisk's soft laughter rising through the floor. Sans exhaled a sigh of relief. He stepped out of bed slowly-

-And in the next step he sat down at the kitchen table.

“GOOD MORNING, SANS!” Papyrus greeted. Sans was surprised to see that for once he wasn't the one cooking breakfast. His brother sat at the table, fidgeting with nerves. Instead it was Frisk at the stove.

“THE HUMAN IS COOKING US BREAKFAST, TODAY!” Papyrus explained. “I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, OFFERED HER MY EXPERT ASSISTANCE IN THIS MATTER, BUT THE HUMAN INSISTS SHE CAN DO IT HERSELF! _”_ Frisk turned to look back at them, her expression oddly serene and in control for this early in the morning.

“Thanks but no thanks, Pap,” she said. “I got this.”

“THE HUMAN IS DUTIFULLY PERFORMING THE VERY LAST ACT OF THE SLEEPOVER RITUAL!” Papyrus pointed at the book laid open on the table, holding it up for Sans to see. Sans nodded, only pretending to read. Papyrus would explain it to him anyway.

“THE BOOK SAYS WE MUST HAVE A DELICIOUS BREAKFAST TOGETHER BEFORE WE ALL GO HOME!” Papyrus indeed explained. He scratched his skull thoughtfully. “I DO NOT KNOW HOW THIS WORKS IF WE ALL ALREADY LIVE HERE, BUT THE HUMAN ENSURES ME IT COUNTS!”

“We used to call it 'leftover breakfast' when I was a kid,” Frisk piped up, pointing he spatula at the buffet she had already prepared: stacks of pancakes made from leftover cereal, bacon covered in chocolate, a casserole with cheese puffs and eggs. She caught Sans' dubious expression and frowned.

“Okay, so we also called it 'hangover breakfast' and it works a little better if you've actually been drinking,” she said as she set the dishes nervously in front of him. “But I promise it's still edible. And we had to do something with all that food on the floor.”

“WOWIE!” Papyrus lit up, instantly beginning to shovel food in his mouth. “THIS IS AMAZING! YOU MGHT EVEN COOK BETTER THAN UNDYNE!”

Frisk chuckled nervously, flushing a little. “Aw shucks. Thanks, Pap.” She sat down between the two of them, taking hold of a cup of coffee she'd left on the table and pulling her legs up to her chest. Despite the unsettling dreams she'd had last night, this morning was the most content she'd felt in a long time.

“So what's the plan for today?” Sans asked, resting his skull in his hand, his elbow rested on the table. “We could have a  **skele-ton** of fun.” Frisk smiled shyly into her coffee cup, thinking of what had happened last night.

“Actually...” she mumbled. “I thought I might go home today.” This made Sans pause. When he spoke again, it was very carefully, as if he were afraid she'd snap.

“You mean to Tori?”

“OF COURSE SHE MEANS TO TORIEL. WHAT OTHER HOME WOULD THE HUMAN BE TALKING ABOUT?” Papyrus scolded him. Frisk looked up from her coffee now, and Sans saw the shyness was gone. She looked brighter and more determined than she had in days.

“It's about time I apologize to mom in person,” she said resolutely.

***

Sans and Papyrus stood in the doorway to watch her go. Papyrus was overly eager to see her off; he waved his arms fanatically, offering over and over to see her home. Sans, on the other hand, was incredibly still. When Frisk turned to say goodbye, he closed his eyes for a long moment-as if he were taking a long and steadying breath, though no lungs filled his chest- and when he opened them again there was a strangle twinkle in the white pinpricks of his eyes.

“I'll see you later,” Frisk told him. On the outside it was friendly and offhand, but she gazed back at him with feeling. It was a promise. He chuckled.

“How does a skeleton say goodbye?” he asked.

“SANS, NO JOKES!” Papyrus barked, bonking his brother on the head. Frisk paused for a second, taking in his features. Sans was so calm and relaxed on the outside, but inside he was tired. Had she done that to him? Still, she grinned.

“How?” she asked.

“See yah, wouldn't want **tibia**!” She laughed, even as Papyrus groaned, and as Frisk turned around and disappeared into the snow and fog, Sans smile relaxed a little more naturally. He staid there until her striped sweater had completely faded from view, and even once Papyrus had gone back inside he hovered in the doorway, staring where she had been.

Inside, the anxiety was raging, but he reminded himself there was nothing he could do. After all, this was entirely new.

***

Frisk worried at first that Sans would follow her, that he would pop up in one of his many short cuts to keep an eye on her. She paused as she crossed the small flower bridge to the Waterfall cave entrance, straining to hear any familiar sound of him. The giant flower beneath her feet shuddered with the flow of running water beneath it, but Frisk staid afloat, not worried in the slightest that it would collapse. She could hear nothing but the roar of the waterfall, and yet from somewhere unseen she could feel something watching her, waiting for her to make a move. Satisfied, she finally stepped onto land and entered the cave. Before heading home, before facing Toriel, there was someone she had to see

Frisk did not stop to acknowledge him until she was already halfway through the cave. Past Undyne and Napstablook's house, past the Temmy village, and onto the dark room who's winding path was only barely lit by glowing mushrooms. She stopped here, pausing by a cluster of the blue, crystal like fungi, and called out his name.

“Flowey.” The light slowly began to fade, the room falling into darkness with only Frisk's voice echoing back at her in reply. Slowly, she reached out to touch the mushrooms again, and the cavern once again lit up with a deep, blue glow. The yellow flower stood before her, his beady black eyes and snarling teeth flickering blue.

“So you've come to have me kill you again?” he asked pleasantly, his high pitched voice tinged with malice. Frisk shook her head.

“No,” she answered. “I've come to tell you I don't need you anymore.”

“That's funny.”

“I'm not going to reset anymore,” Frisk said. “Never again.” Flowey laughed bitterly.

“So you're just going to give up, then?” he sneered. “You don't care anymore about all those monsters you killed? You're just going to make it easy for yourself, because in reality your life means more than theirs does? They're not worth it to you!” As he spoke, his voice becoming louder and shriller, his accusations echoing and surrounding them both, the light slowly faded, his twisted smile and bloodshot eyes falling into darkness once again. Unperturbed, Frisk gently touched her hand to the mushrooms once more.

“I'm not going to let anyone suffer because of my resets,” she explained with determination. “No one will die again because I can't do things the right way.”

“You humans are so predictable!” Flowey spat. “I've seen every timeline, every iteration of every human who's ever come down here. I know every possible thing you'll say! Everything you'll ever possibly do! Everyone in this wretched underground is an algorithm just waiting to be manipulated with a simple calculation, one combination of words away from doing whatever you want! You are _pathetic_!”

“I'll find a way to break the barrier without resetting,” Frisk told him. “I'll do whatever it takes. In this timeline. With these possibilities.” Flowey's eyes began to bulge now, his leaves shaking with rage as he bared his teeth at her.

“And what about everyone you've already killed, huh? What about Aaron? Woshua? What about _Asgore_.”

Frisk smiled at Flowey, making him falter as the lights began to fade once again.

“Never forget,” she whispered. “ _You_ were the one to kill Asgore.” Her features were indistinct now, both of them barely an impression of a figure left on your eyes when the lights go out. “ _You_ were the one who put me and my friends through hell. _You_ were the one who tried to take those children's souls and destroy everything.” Her voice was all that was left now, Flowey's eyes moving desperately around the room, straining to see her through the blackness.

“And not once, not once after all you've put me through, have I hesitated to spare _you_.”

The last of the mushroom's glow died, leaving the room in total darkness, but Frisk did not reach for them again. Flowey stood there alone, listening to the sounds of her footsteps slowly fade away as she traveled the familiar path in the dark.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. This is gonna get dark.

Before long the doors of the castle stood before her. They towered over her head, two hulking masses carved from pieces of driftwood that had fallen into the underground long ago. There were no royal guards left now. Though it had been Flowey who had killed Asgore, word had spread through the Underground that it had been the human to assassinate their king and free the human souls that had been their last hope of escape. Toriel had reluctantly retaken her place as queen, but her insistence at calling you her daughter, her decrees against human hunting, her disbanding of the royal guard...

Undyne had been the one to spearhead the coup. She had bee enraged at the loss of her job, the loss of life, her loss of purpose. If Frisk had taken Asgore's soul and freed herself as Flowey had tried to force her to do, surely Undyne would have succeeded, and then-she supposed-it would have been called a revolution.

It's been two years since then. Everything had calmed down; everyone pretended like everything had gone back to normal. But the giant scar running across the doors from Undyne's spear would never fade.

As Frisk entered, the silence was broken momentarily by the screech of the old doors opening and then closing shut behind her. Her feet against the great hall's checkered floor sounded loud and echoing. Even her heart was too loud. Behind that door over there was where she had failed to spare Asgore. In this hall was where Sans had judged her for the lives she'd already taken....

And that elevator at the end of the hall, this one led down into the little house that was an exact replica of the one Toriel had welcomed her to in the ruins two years ago. It was cozier down here, but still it was not quite right. There was something chilling about this place, the offness you feel when something is slightly different but you can't put your finger on it. Rather than the large water sausages Toriel had kept in her own home, bright yellow flowers were kept in vases. Old pictures of Asgore and Toriel with a small monster child were framed on the walls. Frisk had never asked Toriel directly, but she knew they were pictures of their dead son. Despite all the feelings Toriel had for Asgore, the hatred for his violent beliefs that had led her to exile herself, in all these years since his death she could not bring herself to remove them.

There was a dustiness about this house. Not that it was dirty-Toriel kept it meticulously clean-but that it was unlived in. Like a parent who'd lost a child, this entire house had painstakingly been left in the exact condition it had been in the moment of their death. Each toy, each book, every vase of flowers and mirror left exactly where they had been. A frozen moment from a terrible time.

Frisk paused in the living room doorway. Toriel's chair faced away from her, but Frisk could see her horns poking over the top of the chair, long shadows stretching from the base towards the roaring fire in the hearth.

“Hi, mom,” she called out awkwardly. “I'm home.”

Toriel didn't pause for even a second. There was a sharp but quiet gasp as she heard Frisk's voice, and then almost before Frisk had finished speaking she had leapt from her chair and whirled around to face her. The book she had been holding fell to the ground, forgotten.

“Frisk?” she asked almost like she didn't believe it.

“Mom, I'm so-” Frisk began to say, but before she could finish Toriel had closed the distance between them, pulling her into a tight embrace.

“My child,” Toriel's voice wavered, holding her even tighter. “I was so worried.” Her fur smelled of butterscotch and old books and singed hair, and Frisk buried her face deeper into it, inhaling the aroma and relishing in her warmth.

“I'm so sorry,” she sobbed. “I'm so sorry.”

When she had finally calmed down, trying to breathe through her nose only to find it completely blocked with tears and snot and instead taking a deep, guttering breath, Frisk pulled away. Toriel smiled softly at her, running her furry hands smoothing her hair.

“Why don't we bake a pie?” she asked and led her into the kitchen.

These were the moments Frisk loved most. She had long since stopped being a child when she had met Toriel after her fall, and yet there was a way Toriel allowed her to let go and act young in a way she couldn't anywhere else. While her surrogate goat mom made cinnamon butterscotch pie, Frisk sat on the kitchen counter next to her, licking the spoon and stealing finger fulls of whipped cream when she wasn't looking. And while they baked they talked about Sans.

“So you really like him?” Toriel asked coyly, pretending she wasn't holding back a grin. Frisk huffed at her.

“It's not a big deal, mom.” As Toriel poured the pie filling into the crust, her beady, gluttonous eyes glued themselves to the bowl. “I mean we hang out and he makes bad puns and sometimes we do stupid stuff like try to stack hot dogs on my head or play pranks on Grillby.”

Still, thinking about all those stupid things made her flush.

“He's just some big boned, stupid nerd dork and he's cute and-” Frisk stopped, horrified. Toriel's grin was shit eating.

“Ok, well _just_ all of those things.” She turned away from Frisk, and leaned over to put the pie in the oven. With a snap of her fingers she conjured a fireball and lit the stove. “So when am I _just_ getting some stupid nerd dork grandchildren?”

Frisk paled.

“Moooom,” she groaned, even as Toriel burst out laughing. As her totally rude, totally embarrassing adopted goat mother turned back around and reached for the dirty pie filling bowl, Frisk snatched it from her. She cradled it close to her chest, using the spatula to scrape up the last of cinnamon butterscotch pudding stuck to the sides.

“I mean....is that even possible?” she asked, popping the spatula in her mouth. When she spoke next her voice was muffled as she tried to talk around it. “What even happens when a human and a skeleton try to have kids? Will they be skeletons or people? Or-”she licked the last of the pudding off of the spatula and dug it through the bowl again. “Will they be like a creepy half point? Like skeletons just covered with creepy skin and no muscles, or a human but with their skeleton on the outside?”

“What if they have two skeletons?” Toriel replied and Frisk dropped the pudding bowl in horror, making her weird goat mother with a terrible sense of humor laugh.

“The pie will have to cool for awhile before we can eat it,” Toriel said as Frisk jumped off the counter. “Why don't you take a nap and we'll have tea when it's ready?” Frisk nodded, suddenly sleepy, and shuffled off to her bedroom.

It felt good to sleep in her own bed again. Sans' bed had been great; well, sleeping  _with_ Sans in his bed had been great, but the bed itself was lump and dirty and had a strange greasiness to it that made her skin crawl. Her own bed by contrast was soft and fluffy, and as she pulled the comforter around her it was toasty like Toriel had used her fire magic to warm it up for her. Before she had even realized it, she had drifted off.

_Stay determined..._

Frisk dreamed about the child again. Her eyes fluttered open, and when she found herself in her own bed, in her own bedroom she thought she had woken up. Bu her body seemed to move of its own accord, following the will of whatever plot this dream wanted to unfold. She was only an observer here, her detached sense of self buzzing like she was vaguely aware of stepping out of bed and walking slowly down the hall. She stopped in front of the mirror at the end of the hall, and now she knew she was dreaming, because what looked back at her in the mirror's reflection wasn't her own face, but that of the child who haunted SAVE. Unlike in her other dreams, they had eyes now-her eyes- but as they glared at her in the mirror, their rosy smile twisted into a sharp grin, Frisk could still see the blank sockets and black sludge dripping down their face hidden just beneath the surface.

_It's me_ , they said, and then Frisk's body turned around and walked back down the hall.

As she passed her bedroom, she paused once again in front of one of the giant vases of yellow flowers lining the hall. Her fingers brushed against the petals, inhaling the sweet, buttercup aroma, but this was a dream, and the sensations were dull and almost nonexistent, and Frisk wondered for a moment if she was feeling anything at all, or if these dull sensations were merely memories of things she was familiar with awake.

From the vase, she pulled a long kitchen knife.

Frisk panicked. Despite every attempt to drop it, she held it lovingly between her hands, running one finger softly along the blade. In the gleaming reflection of metal she saw the child's twisted smile flash. Slowly, even as she tried to dig her heels into the ground and wake herself up, her body walked slowly down the hall. Each footstep rang loudly in her ears. At the doorway, she stopped, staring at the back of Toriel's reading chair for a long moment. The fire, still merrily lit in the hearth, flickered across the hot metal gripped heavily in her fist.

“M o t h e r . . . .” The sound barely left her lips, and even then Frisk felt like it wasn't her voice. Her lips throbbed with a dull numbness. Toriel turned around to look at her _._ Her book sat open on her lap; her glasses slid down her furry nose, glinting orange in the firelight.

“My child?” she asked slowly, and her nose crinkled up with some confusion. She stood slowly, placing her book gently on her seat. Her arms held themselves out to Frisk hesitanty, and the way her eyes widened gave Frisk the sudden impression that Toriel wasn't seeing _her_ but-

“I t ' s m e . . …. ..”

Toriel's face now twisted into abject horror. She pulled her arms back to herself, conjuring a flame in her right paw. But when Frisk took a step forward against her will, the knife still held tight in her left fist, Toriel hesitated. She looked into Frisk's dead eyes and the fireball flickered in her hand but didn't jump at her, and that moment was all Frisk needed.

She lurched forward and plunged the knife into her mother's heart.

Toriel's eyes widened. Her mouth opened slightly and let out a guttering gasp. The fireball flickered and then snuffed out in her hand. Frisk plunged the knife in deeper, twisting it sharply in her mother's chest. Toriel stumbled and they both fell to the ground.

As she collapsed her soul shattered, and Frisk was left kneeling over a thick pile of dust.

***

Frisk woke up with start. She practically propelled herself out of bed, and as she did she sneezed loudly and shook. She sneezed again, and then one more time, and when the sneezing had finally stopped she scrambled out of her bed and stood on her own floor and reminded herself that this time she was real. The carpet under her bare feet tickled her skin. The smell of butterscotch cinnamon pie filled the warm air, and as she took a deep, steadying breath, filled her lungs with its comfort.

And then everything was okay.

It had all just been a dream.

Frisk sighed. From the other room she could hear the last of the embers still burning away in the fireplace. Toriel must still be up. Frisk hurried out of the room, eager to be free of her bed and the last remnants of her nightmare. As she moved softly down the hall, she stopped to check the vase of flowers. Their sweet aroma was stronger now- definitely real- but when she hesitantly reached inside the vase there was no knife to be found.

How silly. Of course there wasn't.

“Mom?” Frisk called softly, peeking her head shyly through the living room doorway. How embarrassed she felt now, sneaking out of bed like she was some little kid who had a bad dream. But then again, that was exactly how she felt right now. She took another hesitant step into the room. “Mom?”

_But nobody came....._

Frisk stepped fully into the room now, and on Toriel's chair she could see her book still laid carefully open. The ground seemed to shift under her, like tiny grits of dirt were digging into her bare heels. Frisk took a deep breath to calm herself. Obviously Toriel had stepped out for a moment. She was a busy monster, after all. Or perhaps she had already gone to bed and had simply forgotten to put the fire out.

Frisk took one more deep breath and choked as a mouthful of dust filled her mouth.

For a second it didn't register. She leaned over a bit and coughed for a long minute, thinking only of the fire filling her throat and the deep heaving of her lungs. Then she opened her eyes-slowly; tears were still brimming over from the force of her coughing- and looked down at the floor.

Dust everywhere. Piles of it on the floor, with long streaks trailing away as if someone had disdainfully dragged their feet across it. As Frisk took a horrified step back, more dust was kicked into the air. It floated around her ankles slowly before settling on her bare feet.

“Mom...”

_But nobody came.._

Frisk sneezed again, and now she reached up with a frozen, jerky motion to touch her own chest, where her heart beat painfully and unsteadily behind her ribs, and felt the soft, chalky sensation of dust settled on her sweater.

She could feel it there, deep within herself as she desperately tried to disconnect from the reality before her, a feeling she had not felt in years. Her LV had risen.

Bu that wasn't possible...

It had only been a dream...

She would never...

_It's me...._

_Stay determined._

Wordlessly, Frisk sank to the ground, and, covered from head to toe in her adopted mother's ashes, she began to weep.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I'm going to continue with this, but I stumbled across what I wrote for the next chapter and decided to publish it since so many people liked it. Maybe if I can find the inspiration to keep going I'll write the next one.

The phone rang, and Frisk lifted her head the tiniest inch, rubbing her grubby face but leaving behind a slurry of wet dust and tears. For a long second she stared at the cellphone screen, confused by the buzzing sensation running through her numb fingers.

**Incoming Call...Bag of Bones...**

Sans. Frisk scrambled to her knees now. She clutched the phone tightly, her thumbs poised over it and ready to talk. Sans would know what to do. Sans would be able to help.

Slowly, she hit the end call button and the phone went silent. The bright screen stared back at her and a small ding filled the silence once more. First one new message. Two new messages. Three new messages. She didn't answer any of them. What she really needed to do- the only way she could possibly undo what horror had happened here- the only way to  _ save _ Toriel was to RESET.

She hadn't SAVED in years. Not even in the judgment hall when she had faced Sans. In that last moment of determination she had refused, sure that she would need to go back. Sure she would need to fix her mistakes once again. And now, so many years later, she would be giving up on everything she had built to fix this one. She would lose Papyrus, and Napstablook, and Mettaton, and Temmie, and every other monster she had worked so hard to befriend. And most of all she would lose Sans. Sans, who remembered every timeline. Sans, who would be so hurt after she promised she wouldn't do it again. After he had reluctantly moved forward with their relationship- had laid his pain bare in those photographs and strange drawings kept safe in the shoe box under his bed.

Frisk sighed. She could only hope that shoe box was still with him in the next timeline.

That he would forgive her.

She stood, ready now. Determined. Barely registering the floor beneath her feet, she stormed out of the room, down the hall, until she could see her reflection in the mirror on the far wall. With the red glow around the whites of her eyes from crying and the gray, dirty streaks of Toriel's dust still wiped across her cheeks like war paint, Frisk was something terrible to behold.

_It's me..._

This was her. Not that black eyed and twisted smiled creature that waited for her to let her guard down. Not that thing that had killed her mother and dared to do it with her hands. She would fix this. She would end this. Frisk turned away from the mirror and walked out of the little house she had spent the last two years of her life living in, had only just returned to after so many weeks of self doubt. It meant nothing now.

The judgment hall was silent and empty. Frisk's footsteps echoed like shotgun shells across the high ceiling, but there was no one to answer, no one to question her. Nobody came. The high stained glass windows dyed the light orange and blood red and turned the dust on her face ugly dark colors. She half expected Sans to be there, suddenly appearing in the middle of the hall and leaning against one of the pillars. He had done that so often throughout the years, slipping out from behind corners whenever Frisk was upset, no matter where she was. He would shrug it off and joke as if he'd just happened to run into her, but Frisk knew he had taken one of his short cuts.

Of course he didn't appear. Frisk made it to the end of the uncomfortably long hallway, where the huge doors to the throne room stood. She hadn't dared enter this room since the fight with Asgore. She reached out with steeled, tense hands, and beneath her palms the wood was solid and cold. Slowly, she pushed them open.

A bird chirped softly. The gust of air that burst through the doors as Frisk entered was perfumed with the scent of gentle nectar. The throne room was covered in a soft bed of grass and clusters of yellow flowers. The light was softer here. Not like the heavy stained glass in the hall or the flickering lamps in the house. This light was whiter, calmer. It could almost pass for the sweet, delicate shine of real sunlight. Almost. The memory of a real summer day was palpable. Frisk could almost feel the breeze, taste the warmth. But neither were here. There were some things the Underground simply couldn't fake.

Asgore's empty throne stood in the middle of the room. Over the years the flowers had overcome it, their vines twisting across the golden frame and pushing through every time worn crack. Yellow blossoms bloomed where once there had been a cushioned seat.

“Well, well,” an overly sweet and condescending voice snickered, and from the cluster of buttercups rose Flowey, his face as mocking as ever. “What happened?”

“I don't want to talk to you,” Frisk replied dully, stepping around him. Behind the throne was what she was really after-the room that housed the portal out of the barrier.

“So you're finally giving up then?” he asked. “You killed the old woman and now you're gonna bail before anyone can find out what you did?”

Frisk's fingers curled into a fist by her side. She was aware of every speck of Toriel's dust under her fingernails. The evidence was there on every fleck of her skin.

“It wasn't-” she began to say, but her voice trailed off.

“What kind of _thing_ murders their own mother?” In her pocket, the phone began to ring again, almost desperately now, calling out to her to just pick it up and walk away from all of this. Frisk moved, one numb step in front of the other, to stand before the barrier.

“Your heart is full of so much love,” Flowey laughed from the empty throne. “It might just burst!”

Frisk stepped into the barrier.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first fan fiction I've written in a LONG time. I hope you liked it. Please comment and leave me suggestions. I'm always open to constructive criticism.


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